


powder keg

by Eyesofdoe



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, NOT enemies to lovers despite the description, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Relationship, Up and coming indie band AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2019-10-11 01:54:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyesofdoe/pseuds/Eyesofdoe
Summary: Richie scores a gig singing for his favorite local band, Speech Class. The drummer hates him. Until he doesn't.





	1. i've got my eyes wide

“I’m a singer.” Richie says, faking confidence to the three people sitting in front of him. “Also, I play bass. But that’s not what you’re looking for, so.”

“We have a bass player.” Beverly says. “It’s me.”

“I’m well-aware.” 

“I just wanted to make sure. We’re not very well known.”

“I’ve seen you before. Just once. At Gravy’s.”

Bill’s nose wrinkles. “That place is disgusting. I’m sorry.”

“Are we gonna let him audition or not?” Eddie asks. 

“Glad we’re not getting to know each other here, or anything.” Richie volleys back, and immediately regrets it. He’s trying to appeal to them, not offend. But he’s nervous, and it’s hard to shut off that negative energy.

“What are you singing?” Bill asks, trying to get things back on track.

“Weezer.” Richie says.

“Typical.” Eddie mumbles, scribbling something down on his notepad.

Beverly fights a smile, but knocks the pen out of his hand. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Let me guess.” Eddie says, looking up and smiling, fake and saccharine. “Buddy Holly? Island In The Sun? Maybe something from Pinkerton to prove you’re really into music and you  _ totally know your stuff _ ?”

“Uh, I was gonna do Hash Pipe, but if that’s what you want me to do then I can totally sing any of that, so…”

“So take that, Edward.” Beverly snorts.

“Still in their Spotify Top Ten.” Eddie mumbles, but backs off nonetheless.

“Do you have backing?” Bill asks.

“Yeah, yeah.” Richie says, inwardly criticizing himself for his eagerness. “Here.”

The actual audition doesn’t seem to last too long, and he feels like his performance is, at the very least, a good representation of his talent. He’s better at bass than he is at singing, but he thinks his sound could suit their music alright. It’s tough to replace a singer, even in a band that isn’t exactly famous yet.

“I will tell you what, that song is  _ so  _ underrated.” Beverly says, setting her pen down.

“Spotify Top Ten.” Eddie repeats.

“Well it should be number one!”

“Thanks, Richie.” Bill says, interrupting their side conversation. “We’ll be in touch this weekend after we finish up our auditions.”

“Thanks for having me.” Richie says, holding back the groveling he desperately wants to do.

He’s seen  _ Speech Class  _ live more than once, actually, but didn’t want to risk sounding like some fan auditioning just to get close to his idols. He’s not doing that. He likes the local music scene, and they play a lot since they’re probably the most notable band in the area. And he’d been wandering around the local music store when he’d come across the poster, advertising a need for a new singer. And he decided he should just give it a shot, regardless of his fairly intermediate singing ability.

Bill Denbrough plays lead guitar, and is the unofficial frontman, especially since the departure of their former singer. He does most of the talking at their shows, but never seems altogether comfortable doing it. Richie thinks he can maybe take that burden off his hands. He’d been the kindest during Richie’s audition, and is usually known for being so charitable toward fans.

Beverly Marsh is on bass, and Richie’s always  _ loved  _ good bands with female bassists. It’s not rare, necessarily, but it’s different. And she’s good, definitely better than Richie, and he considers himself pretty damn good at playing bass. She’s also really into stage makeup and outlandish fashion, and she’s not just being talked up in the music scene, but on a few notable fashion blogs.

And Eddie Kaspbrak plays drums. He’s tiny. Richie noticed once when he stood up from the drumset at their first show, and he’d never really forgotten. The drums almost swallow him, and he’s hard to even see from the floor, but he plays them like nobody’s business. He doesn’t usually stick around after shows, never talks onstage, just does the damn thing and exits. It seems like it’s paying off for him. And his bad attitude seems to explain the lack of interaction with their fans.

They’re not famous, at least not outside of the local scene, but they’re headed in that direction according to a lot of other local musicians. And it’s been so long since he’s played in a band. He craves that collaboration, the musical challenge of working and meshing together.

But the weekend is two days away, so he has two more days of agonizing wait to find out whether or not he’ll be the new singer. 

His song is the only thing making him nervous. He knew it would be a controversial choice, considering Weezer’s spotty discography, but Hash Pipe has always been one of his favorites to sing. And he’d seen them cover Pork and Beans at one of their first shows, a very long time ago, so he knew going in that someone in the band must have an affinity for Weezer. He hadn’t expected the pushback, but he thinks he handled it well. And since Toto covered it, Hash Pipe has been pretty relevant. 

 

He’s been seeing this girl, and she’s over on Saturday when he gets the email. Her name’s Nicky, and things have been okay. They’re getting pretty heated, having abandoned a documentary about the nineties to make out on his couch. He’s pretty busy taking that in and hoping that his roommate won’t walk in, so he’s pretty preoccupied. When his phone goes off, he ignores it initially, but after a few minutes he remembers the day and he’s shoving her off. He feels a little guilty about it, but he knows deep down this probably isn’t going anywhere substantial, and the band might. This is his shot at a real life.

“You’re kidding me.” She deadpans when he picks up his phone. “It can’t wait?”

“I auditioned to be in this band I like, they’re supposed to get back to me today. I’m so sorry.” He’s apologetic, but not enough to put the phone down and keep it up. He opens up his email app, and there’s something from the Speech Class official email, no subject. He’s practically holding his breath when he taps on it.

 

_ Richie Tozier, _

 

_ We heard tons of auditions this week, and it was a difficult decision for all of us. After a few days of deliberation, we have finally come to an agreement.  _

 

_ We need you in our band! Contact us ASAP to arrange a meeting so we can go over a rehearsal schedule and you can meet the rest of our team.  _

_ P.S. We really appreciated your song choice, some snarky comments aside. _

_ P.P.S. I didn’t. Weezer sucks and you suck. Welcome to the band. - eddie _

 

_ -Speech Class (Bill, Bev, and Eddie) _

 

Richie starts typing up a response immediately, and Nicky mumbles something about a doctor’s appointment and ruffles his hair before she leaves. He might not see her again. But he’s finally in a good band. Nothing else matters. When Stan comes in that night, he’s already opened a bottle of cheap Moscato from the drugstore around the corner and he’s pouring it into Disney mugs.

“Those are mine.” Stan says, but takes the Stitch one without complaint.

“We’re celebrating.” Richie says. “I got in.”

“Into…?”

“Speech Class!”

“Oh, that’s great.” Stan says, taking a sip from his mug. “This is disgusting.”

“I didn’t have enough money to get anything nice.” 

“That much is clear. What’s the next step?”

“They want to meet tomorrow at Bill’s house. Then we’ll figure out logistical stuff and I’ll meet everyone.”

“Sounds like things are well for Richie Tozier.”

It’s mostly true. And Richie wouldn’t dare contradict him, not when he’s been given such a massive opportunity. But Eddie Kaspbrak’s attitude is weighing heavy on his mind, despite how much of it he thinks might be for show.

“How did everyone measure up?” Stan asks. Like he’s reading Richie’s mind.

“They were really nice.” Richie says. “We didn’t do very much talking, though. I think they probably had a lot of people to get through.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re going to get to know them now.” Stan says, ditching his mug in the sink. “Good luck with your newest venture into music, I’ll be at work until forever.”

“Thanks, Stan.”

_ I don’t think things are going to work out,  _ Nicky texts that night,  _ it’s cool you’re so into music, though. Good luck for real. I hope we can be friends. _

He’s not losing sleep.

 

Richie ends up going to Bill’s apartment for the first time on Sunday afternoon after they’ve exchanged a couple of emails, and it’s all moving so fast that he’s hardly processed what’s happened. He spends a few minutes in his car, just debating on whether or not he should go home and let them find someone more suited for this, but he’s finally startled out of it when a patrol car speeds past and the officer looks at him suspiciously. His car’s cheap and out of place in this neighborhood, and he needs to get inside before he makes it back around the block.

So, with the motivation of a possible arrest, Richie finally heads for the door and waits to be buzzed in. Expecting to see Bill, it is nothing short of an unpleasant surprise when Eddie is standing in front of him.

“We ordered a pizza.” Eddie says dryly. “Are you delivering?”

“I’m your new singer, actually.” Richie says, unable to think of a good comeback in the moment.

“Sorry, I was confused by the fucking Mazda Miata you pulled up in out there.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “You coming in?”

“You’re blocking the door.”

Eddie takes a step to the side, but Richie still has to brush against him when he steps into the apartment. He hears his own inhale, sharp, and tries to push that unpleasant feeling away as fast as possible. There’s a short hallway that leads into a living area, and he takes the time walking down it to control his breathing and, hopefully, his heartbeat. This might be even more nerve-wracking than the audition, since he’s no longer just fucking around and seeing what happens.

“Richie’s here!” Eddie calls out, pushing past him. “No pizza yet. Ten more minutes and it’s free.”

“We’re not doing that.” Bev says immediately. “And most places don’t do that anymore. Did you track the delivery?”

Bev is sitting on the couch between two boys Richie’s never seen before. Instead of taking the chair, Eddie hops onto the arm of the couch to join them. Richie interprets this as his cue to take the chair, so he plops down.

“No.”

“Case closed. Hey, Richie. Welcome to Hell. Bill is cooking.”

“Bill cooks?” Richie asks.

“Bill bakes.” Eddie corrects. “He’s baking. A cake?”

“I believe it’s cake.” Bev nods. “We’ll see. This is my boyfriend, Ben. He has a real job, so he just hangs with us. And this is Mike, our manager.”

“Also a real job.” Mike says. “Technically.”

“Technicalities.” Bev huffs. “Just like how this isn’t  _ technically  _ a chair, Edward.”

She pushes Eddie off the arm of the couch, but he catches himself before he falls fully onto the floor. Richie wishes that he had fallen. It might have made him a little less intimidating.

Bill appears in the kitchen doorway just in time to witness the attempt. “Sorry for how informal this is, Richie. I hope you weren’t expecting anything better, because I’ll be honest...this is how it is. Usually.”

“I think I prefer it this way.” 

“Then we’ll all get along fine.”

“As long as you never sing Hash Pipe again.” Eddie says.

“I added it to our setlist for our next show, actually.” Bill says, winking at Richie.

“It’s a shame, Richie, that I’m going to have to murder you in cold blood before we even get to know each other.” Eddie says. “Pork and Beans was bad enough. Do you want to sell out?”

“I’ve never even heard that song.” Ben says.

“Adele is Ben’s hero.” Bev says by way of explanation. 

“That’s cute.” Richie says.

“Thanks.” Ben says.

“So we have a show next week.” Eddie says, cutting this conversation short. “And we need to rehearse like...three times, at least?”

“I’m free at nights. I’m a receptionist, so...it’s a nine to five kinda deal.”

“Why don’t we do tomorrow night, Wednesday, Thursday, and then a day-long rehearsal on Saturday before the show?” Bill suggests.

There’s a vague hum of approval from the room, and it’s settled.

“Be here at seven on those nights. Expect to leave sometime before midnight.” Bill says.

“And be prepared to put in work.” Eddie says. “We’re close to making it. Losing a singer wasn’t the best thing for this point in our career. We need you to fill the void.”

“What I lack in talent I make up for in good looks and charisma.”

“Real frontman material.” Bev says. “You’ll fit in here.”

Richie sticks around for pizza, but not for cake. When he makes an excuse to leave, Bev is the one that stands to walk him out. 

“I know Eddie can be abrasive,” She starts as soon as the door is closed behind them, “But stick with us. He doesn’t have a problem with you. He’s trying to be funny.”

“He’s something.” Richie says.

“You’ll appreciate it eventually. There’s a heart of gold somewhere underneath all that anger.”

“If only it weren’t all directed at me.”

“He’s hazing you. Don’t even worry about it.”

Richie shrugs it off, but he does worry about it. He worries about it all the way home and until he falls asleep that night, up until the early hours of the morning in a fit over Eddie’s opinion of him. 

“You’d think I have a crush or something.” Richie says, sipping tea with Stan after he’s given up on sleep at two in the morning.

“Do you?” Stan asks, a raised eyebrow.

“No.” Richie says. “I could never date anyone who doesn’t like Weezer.”

“I’ll never understand you.”

When Richie eventually goes to sleep, it’s with the flickering image of Eddie’s face when he opened the door, the sardonic tone, the ghost of how it felt to brush against him. 

He’s in Hell. He’s finally playing with a band that he likes. They might even get famous. But he’s trapped in this standoff with the world’s smallest drummer. 

And what’s even worse is how much he likes the tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just toying with this rn, mostly self-indulgent. i decided to post it to give me some motivation to keep working on it.  
> i'm on tumblr @trashtoziermouth even though i have no posts


	2. some call it science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the final night rehearsal before their show, Eddie seems to be finding new and exciting ways to channel his anger.

At the final night rehearsal before their show, Eddie seems to be finding new and exciting ways to channel his anger. Richie sings one of their originals a little fast, and after some excessively loud drumming, he feels something hit the back of his head. Not hard, definitely not enough to hurt, but enough that he turns around and the music stops entirely. A drumstick lays on the floor.

“Unnecessary.” Richie says. “Completely unnecessary.”

“You weren’t slowing down.” Eddie shrugs. “Can I have my stick?”

Richie tosses it back, rolling his eyes at Eddie’s attitude. Bill is laughing while Beverly chastises Eddie for throwing it, and it’s clear no one is taking this very seriously. And Richie can admit that it could be funny if it happened to someone else. But it didn’t. 

“Fuck you.” Richie groans before they restart the song.

But he’s back on tempo, so it’s hard to say that Eddie’s methods aren’t successful.

The rest of the practice goes without event, and they sit down to finalize the setlist at the end of the night before everyone leaves to go home.

“I want to cut Hash Pipe.” Eddie says as soon as they start looking it over. 

“Hash Pipe is great with Richie, and it has some killer drum beats, so I don’t know why the hell we would do that.” Bill says. “But make your case, I guess.”

“It’s overdone.”

“I’ve never heard it at a show.” Bev says. 

“It’s not that good.”

“I seem to remember once singing Party In the USA at your request, so…” Bill says.

“Why is this the hill you’re dying on?” Richie asks, finally speaking up. “I don’t even care if we do it, I sang it at the audition because I knew I could, but why are you so against it?”

Eddie shrugs. “I just don’t like the song.”

“Or me?” Richie challenges.

“Yikes.” Bev says.

“I literally don’t have a problem with you.” Eddie says, but his voice kicks up higher, and Richie is fuming.

“You barely know me. Why do we have an issue?” Richie asks.

“We’re playing the setlist as is.” Bill says, interrupting an argument that seems to be going nowhere. “No cutting anything. No adding anything. We’ll do Twist and Shout as an encore if people are into it. Good with everyone?”

“Good with me.” Bev says.

“Same.” Richie says.

“Just fucking great.” Eddie says, leaning back in his chair. “Do you have any coffee?”

“It’s midnight.” Bill says.

“And a Friday.”

“I’ll make some. But when you’re up all night and you feel like shit tomorrow, I don’t want to hear you complain.”

“I’ll just drink more in the morning.”

“You’re putting too much caffeine in such a small body.” Bev says, a warning tone to her voice. “You’re going to have a heart attack.”

“My heartbeat’s like a hummingbird’s, but I’m still going strong.”

Richie longs for the easy banter, to feel like he fits in. It will come in time, he’s sure, but it feels awful to be on the outside of all the inside jokes, sitting and listening in without anything to offer. He could joke around, join in on the teasing, but Eddie seems to already have a vendetta against him, and he doesn’t want to make things worse.

Bev retreats into the kitchen with Bill, leaving Eddie and Richie alone.

“How do you take your coffee?” Richie asks, trying to make conversation.

“Ideally something really frilly from a Starbucks, but when Bill makes it, he’s got some kinda magic touch.” Eddie answers. “I think it’s his creamer. He won’t tell me the flavor because he knows it’ll up my caffeine consumption even more.”

“Do you like coffee?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “I like the other stuff they put in it a whole lot more, but the idea of drinking a glass of milk with some caramel syrup seems pretty unappetizing. Espresso just makes it more adult.”

“Music snobs are usually coffee snobs, in my experience, so this is an interesting take from someone like you.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. “I’m hardly a music snob. I love stuff like Halsey, and Demi Lovato, and even Miranda Lambert, not that I’d ever admit to it. We covered Royals once, and that was all me.”

“I know. I mean...I was at that show.” Richie says. “But I don’t think many people would call Lorde bad music.”

“Maybe not Lorde as a whole, but Royals definitely is. Doesn’t stop me from loving it in my private time, though.” 

Richie doesn’t say anything, and Eddie inhales like he’s about to talk, and that just makes the moment even more awkward. Finally, what seems like an hour later, he speaks again.

“Honestly, I’m just giving you shit.” Eddie huffs out a laugh, like a wheeze, and Richie thinks it might just be endearing. “And I also think we need to be doing less covers, so I’m not a huge fan of adding another to our setlist.”

“Covers get you attention.”

“Until people start thinking you can’t write original material. Bill is...he’s great at writing, and he’s letting that talent go to waste. Bev is pretty good too, and she said Ben’s writing some stuff that we could set to music as long as we give him credit and maybe some royalties if we ever make it. I think it’s a waste of our time.”

“Not here to have fun, then?”

“We’ve been having fun for a while. I’m ready to either make something out of this or get out. I’m getting too old to be doing the garage band stuff. The scoliosis I have from drumming isn’t going to be worth it unless it makes me the money I need for a chiropractor. Don’t you want something more than just...covers, and Gravy’s, and high school audiences just looking for something fun to do on a weekend?”

Richie wants to say yes. But he doesn’t know if that’s true, necessarily. Being famous, making money doing something he loves, it would be great. But he’s never needed that. He has an okay day job, he’s got enough money to get by and even treat himself once in a while.

“Music isn’t a job for me.” Richie says, trying to be particular about his phrasing. “I’ve never gone into it with big dreams or anything. I just like singing, and I play bass, like I said at the audition. I played trumpet in high school. I know a little bit about theory. It’s always just been a hobby.”

“I just can’t imagine doing anything else. This is the only job I want to have.” He pauses. “The only job I’ve  _ ever  _ wanted to have.”

“Honestly, I’ve just missed performing. Things haven’t been the same since marching band.” Richie laughs, trying to poke fun at himself before Eddie can. 

“I did that too.” Eddie says. “Percussion. I marched snare for most of it. The smallest bass my freshman year. I loved it.”

“Drum captain?”

“I wish. I talked back too much.”

“I was section leader.”

“I’m glad you’re still so proud of that ten years later.” Eddie snorts.

“I’m a man of few accomplishments, especially when it comes to high school. There’s a reason I didn’t go to college.” Richie pauses. “You all went to high school together, right?”

Eddie nods. “Beverly and Bill weren’t in band or anything. There’s no classic training there. They’re both ridiculously musically inclined, though. I have nothing on them, regardless of what I know about the technical stuff.”

“Were you friends?”

“Something like it, I guess. The band’s called Speech Class because we all had to do it when we were little kids, we reunited late in high school and started this dumpster fire, the rest is history.”

“You went to speech?”

“I had a lisp.” Eddie says. “Dentalized. I had to do a bunch of weird straw exercises. But it worked for the most part. My mom tried to train me out of it first, but I eventually got placed there. She didn’t want me to do it.”

Richie doesn’t ask why. His tone doesn’t seem to invite the question.

“I used to stutter.” Bill says, coming out of the kitchen. “Still do sometimes, when I’m really nervous. But it’s usually okay. I just have to think a little harder before I speak. Which is probably a good thing.”

“I’m gonna head out. Ben’s made brownies and I need to eat all of them immediately.” Bev says. “Good night, boys.”

She stops by Richie on her way out, ruffling his hair. “I like having you around.”

Richie just smiles, and she closes the door softly when she leaves.

“Beverly’s approval is the highest honor.” Bill says.

“I figured that would be Eddie’s.” Richie says.

“Nah, it’s too hard to get Eddie’s. Beverly is a happy medium. I’m too nice, Eddie’s too mean, and she bridges the gap.”

“I don’t like that.” Eddie says. “Bev can be meaner than me.”

“When you’re being a dick, maybe.” Bill laughs.

Eddie’s brows furrow together like he’s about to argue, but he’s silenced when Bill passes over a mug.

“I put some chocolate syrup in there. I figured you might need it after being alone with Richie for more than two minutes.”

“We had a good conversation.” Richie protests.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eddie mutters, bringing the mug to his lips.

Richie watches him take his first sip, noticing that he winces at the temperature but powers through anyway. 

“I think I’m going to get out of here, too.” Richie says. “Thank you, again, for the opportunity.”

“Dude, you’re doing us a favor.” Bill says.

“Don’t get too cocky, though.” Eddie says. “We’re replacing you as soon as we find someone hotter.”

“The implication here is that you think I’m a little hot.. The hottest of all your auditions, at least.” Richie teases.

Eddie flushes, skin coloring even redder once Bill starts laughing. Richie leaves it at that, and he has no name for the giddy feeling in his stomach as he rushes to his car, not wanting to hear Eddie’s comeback once the thinks of one.

They have their first show tomorrow night, their rehearsal was, for the most part, tight and together, and Eddie Kaspbrak has a soul underneath that harsh, angry exterior. And that soul thinks Richie’s attractive.

It’s a good rehearsal, to say the least.

 

The rehearsal before the show doesn’t last long, because it goes surprisingly well. The rest of their allotted rehearsal time is dedicated to calming Bill’s nerves after he gets a tip from a friend about a potential scout.

“It might not even be true.” Beverly says. “Just do what you always do.”

“Why would anyone come to our first show with a new singer to scout us?” Eddie groans. “The world is so fucking cruel.”

“Should I feel offended?” Richie asks. “Was that an insult?”

“I bet now you’re wishing you put more original stuff on the setlist.” Eddie sniffs, a hard frown on his face. “If only anyone would listen to me. Ever.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Bev rolls her eyes. “We couldn’t dream of not listening to you, loudmouth.”

“When we’re done talking Bill down, can I get my own designated pep talk?” Richie asks. “This’ll be my first time singing live.”

All three heads whip to face him at once, terrifyingly similar to something in a scary movie. Invasion of the Band Snatchers, or something.

“Why the  _ fuck  _ would you say that?” Eddie hisses. “Why the fuck would you audition to be a singer? Why the fuck would you neglect to tell us that until now?” Why the fuck are you the way you are?”

“I don’t like the tone you’ve taken with me.”

“You’re just not helping his nerves, Richie.” Bev sighs. “I need to go get Mike. He deals with this better than any of us.”

She disappears, cell phone in hand, and Eddie takes charge by changing the topic of discussion.

“How are we getting there tonight?” Eddie asks.

They’re playing at Garden House, a plant nursery by day with a backroom dedicated to live music at night. It’s a cool venue with lots of greenery, a medium-sized stage, and a clean bathroom. Which is more than welcome after seeing most concert bathrooms.

“Ben’s coming, so you’ll have to drive.” Bill says. “Richie doesn’t know where it is, so he gets the last seat.”

“Can’t.” Eddie says. “My license is suspended, remember?”

Bill’s face falls at that. “No, I did not remember. Thank you for this fun problem.”

“I can drive!” Richie says, rushing to save this before Bill spirals again.

“I’ll go with you.” Eddie says, and Richie thinks he might have a heart attack from the sheer surprise that Eddie is voluntarily agreeing to be in a car with him for an hour.

“Why is your license suspended?”

Eddie mumbles something that vaguely sounds like “eating crickets.”

“Excuse me?” Richie asks.

“I didn’t pay my speeding tickets!” Eddie yells, and Richie can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him. “And I don’t see what’s funny about that!”

“Calm down.” Bill says.

He seems completely unaware of the irony, and then Eddie and Richie are laughing,  _ together _ at  _ someone else. _ Richie’s probably never been happier to make fun of someone. And he makes fun of people all the time.

He gives them a dirty look, but Mike appears before things shift into violent territory, and he leads Bill off somewhere for a motivational speech. 

“Hope you’re ready for an hour with me in a two seater.” Richie says suggestively, elbowing Eddie. “Or maybe an hour and a half if you want to pencil in some time for extracurricular activities.”

Eddie steps away, calmly looking him in the eyes. “I hate you to death and I will dread every moment of this. I am only doing this as a favor for my dear friend Bill in his trying time.”

Before he walks away, Richie catches the smile on his face. And it’s not mean, not a  _ smirk,  _ it’s genuine happiness. Giddiness, maybe at the idea of being in a car with Richie. Maybe at the idea of doing other things with Richie, but he’s not even entertaining that thought, lest he make a move and ruin the group dynamic.

Richie doesn’t realize he’s standing in the room, alone, smiling to himself until Bev walks in on him doing it and snaps her fingers in his face.

“Head in the game, Tozier.” She says, half-joking. “You better bring it tonight. Don’t let Eddie get in your head.”

Richie’s mind is in forty different places, and at least fifteen of them are inappropriate. “No worries. He doesn’t have an effect on me.”

And what a lie it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now @trashtoziermouth on tumblr if you wanna have in-depth discussions on a) reddie b) it in general or c) my awful music taste  
> i hope everyones enjoying this! im having fun


	3. burning down the highway skyline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie yanks the door open with more force than is probably necessary. “Let’s get this over with. At least you’re on time.”

Richie picks Eddie up at his house, which is small and on the edge of town, and there’s two other cars in the driveway. He’s toggling between texting, knocking, and honking his horn when Eddie appears on the porch and renders all of those options unnecessary. He’s got on cutoff jean shorts, jagged at the edge like he took scissors to them himself, and Richie’s never felt so weak looking at someone’s knees before. He’s taking deep breaths as Eddie walks toward the car, trying to tame the smile he feels on his lips before it splits his face in half.

Eddie yanks the door open with more force than is probably necessary. “Let’s get this over with. At least you’re on time.”

“I’m a punctual guy.” Richie says, and it’s generally true. 

“You look good.” Eddie says, fast, like he’s hoping Richie won’t hear it. 

“Thanks.” Richie says, probably equally fast, because he doesn’t want to make this an awkward moment for Eddie or himself. He’d love to get more of these little compliments in the future. “You can play music, if you want. I didn’t want to hold you hostage with my taste.”

“Very considerate.” Eddie says, plugging his phone in and scrolling. He pauses to respond to a text, and Richie can hear him typing through he speakers, frenzied and harsh little taps. He backs out of the driveway, and they’re on their way.

For the first ten minutes of the drive, neither of them speak to each other. Eddie sits criss cross in the seat and stares out the window, and Richie steals glances whenever he knows he can take a break from watching the road.

“So why didn’t you pay your speeding tickets?” Richie asks, finally, hoping this isn’t a sensitive subject.

“I forgot about them. I also failed to appear at my court date, so they ran my mugshot in one of those trashy criminal magazines. And that was just another reason for them to suspend my license. So here I am.”

“Was it a cute mugshot at least?”

“As cute as they get, I guess. Bill put it on a cake for my birthday last year. It’s been embarrassing. My mom called and yelled at me for like, an hour, so. But it’s fine, my suspension is almost up.”

“Just no speeding.”

“I’ve definitely learned my lesson in that regard.” Eddie huffs. “Any warrants out for your arrest?”

“Miraculously, no. The police took me and some of my friends in high school in for possession once, but they just scared us a little and called our parents. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

“How’d you get caught?”

“Smoking in the park.”

Eddie laughs. “How stupid.”

“You’re throwing a lot of stones from that glass house up there, Eddie.” Richie says, but he’s smiling despite his warning tone.

“I was forgetful, not blatantly committing crimes in public.”

“I was in high school!”

“Do you really think you’re all that different from who you were in high school?”

Richie has to think on that for a minute. Yes, he can still be immature at times, and he still has those same rockstar daydreams he’s always had, but...he’s different. He’s more responsible, financially independent, (finally, after switching his phone bill over, the last of his expenses. His mom had fought him tooth and nail on that one, but he was set on independence) and less careless overall.

“I think I am.” He says, finally. “I didn’t go through a complete personality overhaul or anything, but I’m a better person for sure. Less of a disaster. Don’t you think you’ve changed?”

Eddie shakes his head, biting his lip nervously, like he’s in unfamiliar territory. “No. But I grew up pretty fast, so...I don’t think I had a lot of maturing left to do.”

Richie doesn’t say anything.

“My dad died when I was little. And my mom wasn’t super stable after that, so I was pretty independent.” Eddie says. “Don’t pity me or anything, it’s just how things went for me, so. I’m used to it. It’s just hard to tell new people.”

He exhales deep, like he’d been holding his breath. 

Richie still isn’t sure what to say. If he were a braver man, he’d hold Eddie’s hand. He tightens his fingers around the steering wheel instead.

Eddie’s breathing gets shaky, warbly exhales that sound like he’s not crying but he just might. Richie decides it’s worth the potential teasing, and he reaches for Eddie’s hand. To his surprise, Eddie takes it without saying a word. Eddie changes the music, turning on something upbeat, and he steadies himself. Richie is looking over more often than he probably should, but he wants to catch any kind of emotional breakdown early.

Eventually, Eddie lets go. Richie’s hands return to the steering wheel. The moment passes like it didn’t happen. 

Conversation is lighter after that. They talk about favorite things: colors, animals, albums, seasons. They talk about TV shows, coffee or tea, best ice cream flavors. The conversation comes easy, and they’re at the venue way before Richie wants to be. But they’re still a few minutes late, so they have to rush inside.

Bill and Bev are busy setting up sound equipment, so there’s no one looking angry, and they share a look like they’ve gotten away with a heist. Eddie joins them in the booth, talking technology Richie doesn’t understand, and Richie takes a seat with Ben on one of the couches on the perimeter of the room, waiting on a call for soundcheck.

“I hope Eddie played nice.” Ben smiles, warm and welcoming.

“He did.” Richie says. “He’s not so bad when you get him alone.”

“He’s all bark and no bite. When me and Bev first started dating, I thought he’d rip my head off. The first time we ever fought, I figured he’d tell her to dump me immediately, but he talked her into staying. He defended me. Eddie talks shit to your face, but he’ll have your back when it really matters.”

Richie looks up at the stage, catching Eddie laughing. He has his head thrown back, freckles dot the side of his neck, one on his earlobe that almost looks like a piercing. When he calms down, his eyes meet Richie’s. Richie is the one to look away. 

“Weird.” Ben says. 

“For sure.” Richie says, but it comes out like a choking sound.

Their small talk is interrupted moments later by the crash of a cymbal and a voice over a microphone.

“Calling our dumbass singer to the stage, please.” Eddie says, mimicking an announcer. “We need you up here to test the mic.”

Richie scrambles to take his place, but between the three of them, the audio is pretty much perfect. Mike shoots a thumbs up from the corner of the room, and Ben heads for the bar as people being to filter in for the show. They’re not playing for another half hour, so Richie hops offstage to order a plate of fries. His stomach is growling and it’s all he needs to faint in the middle of their set and prove his incompetence.

Bill sits down with him. Beverly had gone outside to smoke and Eddie followed to keep her company, so it’s just the two of them.

“How was the ride up?” Bill asks.

“It was good.” Richie shrugs. “Easy drive, decent company.”

“No bullying?”

“None.”

“He’s really growing up.” Bill laughs.

“Aged by hundreds over the few days I’ve known him.” Richie says, popping a fry into his mouth. He looks down at his phone, a good luck text from Stan previewed on the screen. He promised to come to the next show, but he had work this time. Richie clears it, and when he looks up, Eddie’s sliding a glass of soda across the table.

“Got this for you.” He says. “For the ride. I was going to get you a beer, but then I remember that drinking and driving is illegal.”

“No wonder your license is suspended. I could drive after one beer, anyway.”

“I’d rather be safe than sorry.” Eddie winks. “We don’t need two band members without a license.” 

“We should probably get on stage.” Bill says. “We’re like ten minutes until showtime.”

Just as quickly as it came, Eddie’s soft side disappears, and he’s back to a steely expression and nothing but music talk.

 

It’s a pretty dense crowd by time they get started. It’s not wall to wall or anything, but there’s a good amount of people here. Enough to make or break Richie’s role in the band. So he steps up to the plate.

“Hey guys!” Bill says, his usual awkwardly friendly opening. “We’re Speech Class, and we have a new singer, and he’s gonna do the talking tonight!”

There’s a small smattering of applause. The downside of entering a band that already has a cult following is the fact that any replacements will be scrutinized. 

“I’m Richie Tozier, and I’ll be singing for Speech Class for now on!” Richie says. “Or at least for tonight. I hope you like The Killers, this is When You Were Young!”

There’s some louder applause at that, and it gets even louder when Richie starts singing. He’s proved himself, at least at the beginning. And it’s a great way to start the show. The first song flies by, and the crowd seems to be liking it, liking  _ him,  _ and he’s so fucking glad, because it would be too hard to let go at this point. 

It’s the original stuff he’s worried about, and the second song of their set is original. When it goes over well, it builds up on his confidence. The set is going so fast, all of his energy completely devoted to this one thing. He can feel sweat pouring down his face, the lights bright in his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s amazing, it’s a complete and total rush.

“In case you missed it, we are Speech Class, I’m Eddie, and I hate this fucking song!” Eddie yells before Hash Pipe, and Richie can’t help but laugh. Bev and Bill look shocked, he even hears Bill miss a chord at the beginning. But he’s suspended in euphoria, floating on air, and he’s more sure than ever that this is what he was meant to do.

By the end of Twist and Shout, he’s screaming more than singing and his throat is raw, but the crowd is into it. They’re dancing, yelling, pushed right up to the front of the stage. He closes out the set with a bow, thanks them for their patience with a new member, and then the lights go dark.

“You were so good!” Bev squeals, leaving her bass hanging as she pulls Richie in for a hug. “They love you and we love you!”

“This was...probably our best show ever, and you’re the only thing different.” Bill says. 

“Don’t bullshit me, you were great before.”

“But we’re better with you.”

“Be careful feeding that ego.” Eddie warns. “We don’t need a diva singer on our hands.”

“We don’t need a diva drummer, either.” Richie fires back.

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, but with a smile. “Fuck you, Tozier.”

They’re loading their equipment outside when they’re approached by a tiny girl in a polka dot dress. “Hi, my name’s Tessa. I’m a representative for Endless Summer Records. We’re a small, indie label, and I really liked what I saw tonight.”

“We really appreciate that.” Bill says, and he calls Mike over. 

Mike and Tessa start talking and Bill eventually waves everyone else away. They’re waiting at a table to be filled in for what seems like hours, and when Mike and Bill come back inside, everyone’s on the edge of their seats.

“To summarize what Mike is going to try to put into business talk: we’ve piqued their interest. They want to see more before they offer us a deal, especially more original stuff, but...it’s a high possibility they’ll take us.” Bill says.

“What he said.” Mike rolls his eyes. “You could do some good learning ‘business talk.’”

“Ignorance is bliss.” Bill shrugs. 

They don’t stick around for very long, with too many people approaching the table to discuss the show and their own bands and it’s all flattering, but they’re exhausted and ready to head home. Eddie follows Richie out after they say their goodbyes, and they peel out of the parking lot in record time.

“You were good.” Eddie says. “Don’t let it get to you, but you were. And I didn’t like our old singer nearly as much as I like you.”

“You must have really hated that guy.” Richie snorts.

“He was alright.” Eddie says, casting his eyes up toward the roof of the car. “I just really like you.”

“You do a really good job making sure I know that.” 

“I think it’s fun being mean. And I think deep down, you like it.”

Richie smiles to himself. Eddie really has no idea. “Maybe a little bit.”

The ride home lacks conversation, but they make up for it in radio singalongs, Eddie drumming aggressively on the glove compartment, stomping where he’d hit the pedals. It’s loud and obnoxious, but Richie is still on cloud nine, so it’s perfect.

When he drops Eddie off, there’s a moment where it seems like neither of them want the night to end.

“I’ve never seen you talk onstage before.” Richie says.

“I thought you’d only been to one of our shows.” Eddie smirks.

“I lied a little bit.”

“I was having fun tonight, so I joined in.”

For a long moment, with the way Eddie’s looking at him and The 1975 playing soft and a little sexy in the background, it seems like they might kiss. Before Richie can gather the strength to lean in, Eddie pops the door handle and steps out. He leans back inside for just a second before he walks up to his house.

“I knew you were lying. I recognized you from the crowd a couple times.”

“I didn’t think you’d pay that much attention to the crowd.”

“Only when it’s someone special.” Eddie says, refusing to elaborate. “Night, Richie. See you Monday.”

Sunday is going to be the most agonizing day of Richie’s life. As he drives home, he considers the possibility of sleeping straight through it, but ultimately decides that would be too detrimental.

Richie comes in the door to find Stan on the couch, remote in hand.

“I think I have a crush.” Richie says.

“How was the show?” Stan asks.

“On Eddie.”

“I knew who. That’s why I didn’t ask.”

“I think he likes me back.”

“Why don’t you pass him a note and ask?” Stan snorts. 

Richie jumps onto the couch with him, throwing a pillow into his face and laughing as he sputters. “Don’t be a dick. I think I like him a lot.”

“Hold your horses on this one, Rich, you don’t want to break up a band.”

“Maybe it’s worth it.”

“You are the biggest drama queen I know.”

“And you’re the biggest cynic. Turn on something sweet. I’m in the mood to pine.”

And he knows Stan’s got a soft spot for romantic comedies. He can’t deny him that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank u so much for reading & for your kind words. reading y'all's comments makes my heart so happy  
> follow me @trashtoziermouth on tumblr. i promise i'll post more once i ingrain myself back in the fandom on there.


	4. eyes and words are so icy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, since you don’t know how things go around here, Bill only cooks when he has bad news.” Eddie says. “So prepare yourself for whatever is coming tonight.”

On Monday at work, Richie’s antsy at his desk. Bill’s cooking dinner tonight and they’re just decompressing before they start rehearsing again for another show next week. The last few hours have gone by agonizingly slow, and he’s just ready to bolt out the door and change out of his “business casual” into something Eddie might like.

If anything, not seeing him has just made Richie come to terms with the magnitude of his feelings. He  _ misses  _ him and they barely know each other. He’s looking forward to seeing him, and the rest of the band, but he can’t deny that it’s mostly Eddie. He’s been listening to Hozier nonstop, a sure sign that he’s head over heels, and Stan’s taken notice and started poking fun already.

His phone buzzes on his desk, and he’s grateful for the momentary distraction. If he spends two minutes texting, there will be only be twenty-eight minutes left in the workday.

_ Can you pick me up? -eddie _

Richie’s heart beats a little faster, and he rewrites and rewrites different ways of saying “yes” until he erases it all and just sends a thumbs up emoji.

Eddie sends a monkey in response.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Richie sends a gif of a monkey dancing, and Eddie’s typing bubbles appear and disappear, appear and disappear.

_ Stop monkeying around + get back to work tozier _

Richie laughs, out loud, feeling undeniably lame for it. He’s not a pun guy at all, and it normally gets on his nerves, but this is Eddie. He’s likely rolling his eyes right now at himself, sacrificing his own pride for a cheap laugh and a little bit of irony. The next thirty minutes might be agonizing, but Richie has a smile on his face for every second of it.

 

Pulling up to Eddie’s house makes Richie feel like he’s going on a date. The meet the parents date. The will we have sex date. The did I fuck this up date. His stomach’s turning flips, and this isn’t even a date. It’s a fifteen minute car ride from one end of town to the other so they can go to what is basically a second job.

Eddie’s waiting on the porch again, this time on the steps with a book in his hands. He leaves it next to the front door and walks down the driveway. Richie forgets to unlock his doors and Eddie knocks on the window.

“Idiot.” He mouths, and Richie hits the unlock button so he can get in.

“So, since you don’t know how things go around here, Bill only cooks when he has bad news.” Eddie says. “So prepare yourself for whatever is coming tonight.”

“Do you think the label changed their mind?”

“No, because I think he’d be up front about that one. It’s something small, but something we’re going to be mad about for sure.”

“Has this happened before?”

“We had to play his brother’s party for free for a bunch of kids.” Eddie says. “He made some really complicated pasta thing. We all hated it and choked our way through it and then he sprung Georgie Denbrough’s Super Sweet Sixteen on us.”

“Did Georgie like it?”

“Absolutely not. He was embarrassed as hell to have his older brother playing young people music, and I’m sure all his friends made fun of him for it. Their parents made him.”

“Classic parent move.” Richie says. “I didn’t have a sweet sixteen. I did the good ol’ getting drunk in the middle of a field thing with my friends.”

“God.” Eddie laughs. “Your experiences are not universal. I just had a family dinner.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never blacked out in the woods behind someone’s house?”

“This is surreal. Of course not.”

“Believe me, it’s essential to the teenage experience. We’re going to have to make up for lost time.”

“I don’t like to drink very much anymore.” Eddie says. “I’m kind of a lightweight, and after learning my limits, I’ve stuck to them. I hate being hungover.”

“That’s part of the fun.”

“Weird definition of fun.”

“What’s your definition of fun, then?”

“Watching good bands, reading, you know. Adult stuff.”

“What an intellectual you are.” Richie snorts. 

“Excuse me for not restricting my recreational activities to heavy drinking.”

“I’m wounded.” Richie says. “Really.”

Richie parks the car and they walk up to the building side by side. Eddie’s hand brushes his, and after Richie jerks away, Eddie lingers about half a step behind. Faint yelling can be heard from outside the door, but the words are too muffled to make out.

“Looks like Bill’s already let the cat out of the bag.” Eddie laughs.

“....you fucking moron!” is the clearest sentence so far, and Richie braces himself as he reaches for the handle. He’s debating whether or not he actually wants to open it when Beverly is mid-scream, and then Eddie shoves him inside, effectively breaking the seal and plunging them into the chaos.

Bill is standing in the doorway of the kitchen as Beverly yells from across the room, and he looks almost relaxed. Like this was expected. It makes Richie nervous.

“Thank  _ God  _ you two are here.” Bev huffs. “I can’t wait for you to hear Bill’s great news.”

“Hit me with it, William.” Richie says.

Bill hesitates, face tipped toward the floor. “We’re playing a wedding this weekend.”

“Tell them the worst part.” Bev says, her tone not unlike one used to scold a dog.

“The first dance is Ed Sheeran.” Bill mumbles.

“Do you ever just...want to die?” Eddie asks. “Do you even need me there?”

“Yes.” Bev answers for him. “Yeah, we do. Because they also want a collection of songs by Journey and Bon Jovi.”

“Who are these people?” Eddie asks.

“Friends of my mom’s.” Bill sighs. “We’re getting paid this time, at least.”

“Do we really need the money?” Bev asks.

“Yes.” Bill and Eddie say in unison.

“Richie, I think I’ve decided I need to get blackout drunk, actually.” Eddie says.

“It doesn’t just work like that.” Richie says. “A wedding isn’t an appropriate setting.”

“But wait, there’s more.” Bev says. “Where is this wedding taking place,  _ Bill _ ?”

“Barn.” Bill says, simply, with zero elaboration.

“Eddie, you might be onto something here.” Richie says.

“How much rehearsal do you think we’ll need to play these shitty, awful songs for this terrible wedding?” Bev asks.

“I think three nights this week and the day of. And then we have to buckle down because we have that big show at the end of the month. I promise nothing else like this is going to come up between now and then.” Bill says. “Who wants to eat?”

“You better feed me.” Bev grumbles, following Bill into the kitchen.

“I’ve never played a wedding before.” Richie says.

“You’re not missing much.” Eddie sighs. “It  _ really  _ sucks. People usually don’t even want live music, we’ll get people yelling out requests, and at some point we’ll  _ have  _ to play Sweet Caroline or the whole crowd will throw a fit.”

“You don’t like a little Neil Diamond?”

“No thanks.” 

Richie takes Eddie’s hands, humming the beginning notes of the song. He’s singing, making his voice comically deep, and twirling Eddie around the little living room. His volume’s gradually increasing, and he thinks he’s verging on ear-splitting once he gets into the chorus. It’s a miracle neighbors haven’t been banging on the walls.

Eddie sings along, reluctantly at first, but then he’s into it. They’re laughing, yelling, lost in this little world when Eddie suddenly breaks away, staring red-faced at Beverly.

“Well, that’s the spirit, I guess.” She says, smirking. “You guys hungry after that performance?”

They follow her into the kitchen. Eddie leaves a seat between them when he sits down, and Richie can’t help but feel embarrassed. And a little guilty. Eddie had been laughing, but was it wrong for him to do? 

All through dinner, Eddie won’t meet his eye. Doesn’t laugh when he makes jokes, hardly even acknowledges him when he’s talking. Richie feels like he has whiplash, and Bill’s fish tacos aren’t doing much to remedy his unease.

“So when are we rehearsaing this week?” Eddie asks. “For the wedding?”

“I figure Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and then the wedding’s on Saturday, so that morning. We won’t have a ton of time, though, so we need to try to get this down by the end of Friday’s rehearsal.” Bill says.

They bounce ideas for the setlist besides the standards the bride has set for them, and they end up settling on a decent mix of good music and cliche wedding songs. 

“I haven’t been to a wedding that had a live band in like ten years.” Eddie gripes as they rewrite the final setlist. 

“I haven’t been to a wedding in like ten years.” Richie says. “How many weddings have you been to?”

“So many. Everyone from our high school got married when we were like, nineteen.” Eddie says, finally giving Richie a real response and making him feel significantly less like a burden.

“I didn’t go to any weddings.” Bev says, eyebrows knitted together. 

“You probably weren’t invited.” Eddie says. “People think I’m a fun party accessory since I’m gay. Especially these small town gals. It makes them look open-minded and ensures that everyone will gossip for weeks.”

“You’re so full of it.” Bill rolls his eyes.

“It’s true.” Eddie insists. “Believe it or not. I know the truth.”

There’s a long enough silence that it’s clear they’ve concluded the night’s business.

“You ready to leave?” Eddie turns to Richie. “Not to push you or anything, but I know you have work in the morning, and I think we’ve gotten as much done as we can tonight.”

“Yeah.” Richie nods, getting up from the table. “See you guys Wednesday.”

“Since when are you two hanging out?” Bev asks. 

“Since I needed rides places and both of you stopped giving them to me.” Eddie says. “Richie’s new to the group, so he needs to be initiated.”

“Group initiation is driving your ungrateful ass around?” Bill laughs. “I’m glad I started the group.”

“Careful, Denbrough, or I’ll initiate you now.” Eddie growls. “See you losers later. Come on, Richie.”

And what is Richie to do but follow him out the door?

“You wanna come in?” Eddie asks when they get back to his house, and Richie pinches the skin on his arm just to make sure he’s awake. “Just to hang out for a little bit.”

Richie declines to mention that they’ve been hanging out all night and alone for the last fifteen minutes, and instead just unbuckles his seatbelt and follows Eddie into the house. 

“My roommates aren’t here or I’d introduce you. Do you want some coffee?”

“I thought you didn’t know how to make it.”

“I can use a Keurig.” Eddie rolls his eyes, but smiles. “My capabilities are limited to pushing a button, but this one I can do.”

Richie sits at the kitchen table, awkwardly staring at his hands while Eddie opens cabinets in search of K-cups.

“They’re my roommates.” He explains, “But don’t worry. I’m allowed to use them.”

Richie just laughs. He sounds like a little kid trying to seem adult, and the whole situation is hilarious anyway. It’s barely been two weeks and he’s in Eddie Kaspbrak’s house, drinking coffee with the person who used to intimidate him most.

Eddie joins him at the table, sliding a mug across to him and keeping one for himself.

“What are you drinking?” Richie asks.

“Don’t laugh at me.” Eddie says, smirking, on the verge of laughing himself.

“I won’t.”

“Chocolate milk.” Eddie takes a sip, and Richie can’t help but laugh, both at his drink choice and his mannerisms as he plays embarrassed. 

“Do you want any sugar or anything?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah, but I can get it.” Richie stands, moving over to the cabinets. “Where is it?”

Eddie gets up to show him, going under Richie’s arm to reach for the right one. “Let me be a good host, damn it!”

He’s laughing again. He laughs so much around Richie, sometimes genuinely, sometimes forced, sometimes out of shock. It’s sweet, and Richie wants nothing more than to keep him laughing. 

Or at least he doesn’t want anything more until Eddie’s looking up at him, their chests so close that he can feel the warmth of Eddie’s body against his without even really touching him. Eddie’s mouth softens, laugh long gone, and Richie wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in. Eddie’s hands land on his chest fast, fingers curling into his shirt, and it seems like he’s just as into it until he suddenly turns his head away.

“We can’t do this.” Eddie laughs, but this time it’s different. Nervous, edging on hysterical. Richie decides he never wants to make him laugh like this again. “We really can’t.”

“Why not?” Richie asks. “Are you not into me? Am I misreading this whole situation?”

“No. I mean...yes, I think I like you, but we can’t.”

“I’m gonna ask why not one more time before I’m out the door.” 

“Do you have time for a short story? That’s kind of a secret so don’t tell anyone or act like you know?” Eddie asks.

“If it’s going to explain why we’re not making out right now, then yeah, I’d love to hear it.”

“You know Griff, our old singer?”

“Yeah.”

“We had a thing, kind of. It wasn’t a big deal. And then it was, and we had a big fight, and he quit the band. Bill and Bev were  _ furious  _ at me. I felt like such an asshole, especially when we started looking for a new singer. It made me realize how much I could’ve fucked up the band. We’re too close now for me to do that again.”

Richie doesn’t know what to say. There’s a whole flurry of responses that come to mind, but none of them don’t jump immediately into possibilities that they could have a real relationship, not just a  _ thing,  _ and he doesn’t want to scare Eddie off. Especially when he already has reservations about it.

“And I don’t want them to think that I’m just like…like I have a fetish or something. I don’t know how to put this into words. I don’t want them to think I’m just into you because you’re a singer or because you’re ‘new Griff’ or whatever.”

“Am I just ‘New Griff?’” Richie asks, trying desperately (and failing) to keep his hurt feelings out of his tone. His throat feels thick, and he’s blinking fast to prevent his eyes from even  _ considering  _ tear production.

“No!” Eddie sighs. “That’s what I’m trying to say. You’re not, but they’ll think you are, and they’ll just get pissed at me again. And, like, they’re my best friends. This is more than just a band to me, this is my family. I can’t fuck that up for you.”

_ You’re not worth it. _

Richie shakes off that thought, trying desperately to unhear that whispery voice in his head, plastering a smile onto his face. “I think I should probably leave.”

“And how am I supposed to know this isn’t some kind of idol worship?” Eddie asks.

“I don’t...fucking  _ idolize  _ you, are you kidding me?” Richie asks, laughing harshly. “You’re the silent drummer in a local band, not some big rockstar.”

“I don’t know!” Eddie huffs. “I don’t fucking know how you feel. I just know how this turned out before and how it would probably turn out now, and I can’t take that risk. Not again.”

“Well, I’m glad we got this out of the way. I’m super glad all this flirting has meant literally nothing, I’ll keep that in mind going into the future.”

Richie leaves after that, and Eddie stands on the porch when he backs out of the driveway, mouthing “I’m sorry” and looking remorseful. It’s not enough to keep Richie from crying as soon as he’s in the door of his own home, alarming Stan enough that he stands up from the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Stan asks. “Did they kick you out?”

“No.” Richie sniffles. “I tried to kiss Eddie. And he was totally into it, and then he turned on me all of a sudden, and told me all this bullshit about how he had a thing with their old singer and he couldn’t do it again.”

“No.” Stan sighs. “God, Richie, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I guess I will be. I shouldn’t be this upset about it, we hardly know each other. It’s not like we’ve even been on a date or anything. I just...thought he felt that way for me, and I  _ know  _ I feel that way for him. And it’s not fair that circumstances I had nothing to do with are going to keep him from even entertaining the idea of us together.”

“You’re right.” Stan shrugs. “It is unfair. And it was unfair of him to let you think there could be something. But sometimes people don’t think about how they’re hurting our feelings, right?”

Richie nods, feeling a little like a preschooler being taught simple human interaction. But it’s helping, Stan’s soft voice bringing him down slow from his mental spiral.

“I don’t think he meant to hurt you.” Stan says. “And this is such a good opportunity for you. Don’t let this ruin it all. It was just a crush, right?”

Richie nods, even though it doesn’t really feel true.

“It’ll be okay. You’ll be friends, and you’ll move on.” Stan says. “Now come over here and let’s find something to watch that’ll calm you down, okay?”

Richie joins him on the couch, ignoring the buzzing his phone is doing from his pocket. The one time he glances at it, it’s multiple texts from Eddie, variations of “I’m sorry” sent over and over, all lowercase, paragraph long explanations of why he did what he did.

When Stan’s sure he’s okay, Richie retires to his room, and he writes his first original song. Maybe Bill will hate it, maybe he won’t, and playing it with Speech Class will be just passive-aggressive enough for him to feel vindicated.

He normally isn’t this petty. But he’s also never felt so much so fast. Eddie’s bringing out new sides in him. Sides that he’s never examined, and sides that he isn’t so sure that he likes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was one of my favorite chapters to write yall. i know things are looking bleak, but we gotta stir it up somehow  
> come talk to me @trashtoziermouth on tumblr or leave a comment! i love hearing what yall have to say


	5. i'm trying really hard to not hate you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their Wednesday rehearsal, Eddie says maybe he should drink some tea, soothe his voice, and it kicks up more issues than it has any business to.

There’s a slow decline back to normal territory, which seems to be a return to the incessant bickering that started up this whole mess. Richie’s pretty done with hearing Eddie run his mouth, and now he knows why he’s acting it, which just magnifies how frustrating it is. He just wants to fucking kiss him, and Eddie’s obviously trying to hurt his feelings to make that desire go away. As if Richie’s type hasn’t always been a little mean.

On their Wednesday rehearsal, Eddie says maybe he should drink some tea, soothe his voice, and it kicks up more issues than it has any business to.

“What are you trying to say?” Richie demands, and Bill and Beverly don’t stop playing, making the situation more awkward and even more dramatic.

“I’m trying to say that you don’t sound as good as you usually do.” Eddie snaps. “I’m just looking out for you, Richie.”

“What do I sound like then?” 

“Like you need some fucking rest, chill out.”

“You get up here and do it, then.”

“Can you guys like...shut up?” Beverly asks. “I’m glad you’re getting along again, but cut it out. We have to play this wedding in a few days. Do you want to ruin someone’s wedding?”

“No.” They grumble at the same time, like kids being scolded for fighting over toys.

“Richie, you sound fine.” Bill says. “Maybe you should do something to soothe your throat, just after all the screaming with Twist and Shout last week, but you don’t sound any different than you did before. And the music we’re doing right now doesn’t really call for pristine vocals.”

“Can we please rehearse?” Bev groans. “You can suck each other’s dicks after practice. I want to get this over with.”

“What do you have to do that’s so important?” Eddie asks.

“None of your fucking business.” Bev snaps. “Let’s just run the setlist and leave. Everyone’s pissed off and this clearly isn’t anyone’s idea of a fun group hang.”

“I’m fine.” Bill says.

“That’s even worse.” Richie says, and finally, they all laugh.

It doesn’t make the rest of their rehearsal any less tense, but it’s enough relief to get them through.

When Richie leaves, Eddie’s right behind him.

“You’re not asking me for a ride home right now.” Richie says, flatly.

“No.” Eddie says. “I mean, yeah, kind of. But I want to buy you a coffee. If you’re down.”

“Because coffee with you went so well last time.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Is it not?”

“Richie, please.” Eddie says. “I want to talk about what happened.”

“Has it occurred to you that I’m pretty embarrassed about it? Because it was fucking embarrassing. Maybe I don’t want to examine it in depth over and over just to save ‘our friendship’, which wasn’t even there in the first place, shown by your  _ behavior  _ tonight.”

“Richie…” Eddie sighs. “I want to kiss you so bad I can’t stand it. You knock me off my fucking feet every time you walk into a room, and it drives me crazy that I can’t just give into this, especially since I know you want it too. But we can’t.”

“So why are you trying to take me on a date right now?”

“It’s not a date; it’s an apology.”

“Fine.” Richie says. “But if you invite me into your house, I’m literally going to hit you with my car.”

“That’s...fair, I guess.”

They sit in a corner booth at the Starbucks, and Richie’s jealous of everyone around them, blissfully unaware of this awful conversation he’s been forced to participate in. 

“So...we need to get this out on the table.” Eddie laughs nervously. “I like you a lot. You’re funny. You’re hot. You’re really talented. I like talking to you more than I like talking to most people.”

Anticipating the “but” is the most painful thing Richie’s ever felt. He’s sitting here, listening to Eddie list out all these reason he likes him, and he knows nothing’s going to come out of it. It’s a torturous feeling.

“You like me?” Eddie asks. “Right?”

“I wouldn’t have made a total ass of myself if I didn’t.” Richie snorts.

“Right. So, here’s my deal.” Eddie takes a deep breath. “I’ve almost broken up the band more than once. The thing with Griff, almost going to jail, there was a short stint where Bev almost quit because I meddled in her relationship, my general attitude and demeanor, and I got in a fight at one of our shows one time and almost lost our entire fanbase because of it. I’ve fucked up so many times, and it’s always me. Bill and Bev have  _ never  _ done anything that put the band at risk. So I’m not doing it again.”

“How do you know you’ll fuck it up?” Richie asks. If Eddie wants his opinion, wants to put it all out there, then he’s going to get it. “Why do you think we’re so doomed to fail?”

“I don’t.” Eddie says. “I’ll admit that. But it’s a bet I’m not taking. It won’t be me again. I’m not going to make us lose another singer, and I’m definitely not going to test their friendship again. Bill and Beverly are my  _ only  _ friends. And that’s even more important to me than the music.”

Richie can understand. He  _ can,  _ really, but he’s dealing with so much emotionally he feels like he’s about to explode. He stares into the lid of his coffee, trying desperately to counter any of Eddie’s points. But he’s right. And when it comes down to it, the band is important to Richie, too. Eddie had just been a bonus. But he  _ needs  _ the music at this point to feel like himself.

“You’re right.” He says, finally.

“I’m glad you’re seeing it through my eyes.” Eddie says. “I’m sorry things have to be this way. I think if we’d met in, like, any other circumstances, things would be different.”

Richie drives Eddie home after that, and for once, he doesn’t really feel like talking. He’s been hearing that over and over, just in different ways, since he started dating. Not the right place, not the right time,  _ it’s not you it’s me,  _ not the right person, and now not the right circumstances. He’s had exes yell during breakups, send him mean texts, subtweet him, and this somehow hurts more than all of that combined.

He’s never cared so much before, especially so early on. And it seems unfair that when he finally does, it can’t work. 

He just spirals from there, in his head as Eddie talks on and on about something entirely unrelated. As if they could have that conversation and just move on. By time he drops Eddie off, he’s certain he’ll never find love. And then by time he gets home, he’s accepted it, resigned to a life with Stan until he finds someone, and then many cats from there.

“How was rehearsal?” Stan asks when he comes in, preparing for a long night of stewing in his own misery.

“Fine. Eddie forced me to talk about our feelings after, and he just came out to the same conclusion as before, so it was pointless. And now I have to watch people be in love on Saturday, which also sucks.”

“I promise you’ll get through this.” Stan says. “You’ll move on soon.”

“This is different.” Richie insists. “I feel like...I won’t ever know enough about him. I won’t ever spend enough time with him. We’re together all the time and it’s only making this about a million times worse every time I see him.”

“Maybe...you should quit the band.”

“I can’t do that. We’re good. And they already lost a singer. And Eddie’s whole reason for not dating me is that it would break up the band. I’m not going to prove him right.”

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Not tonight.” Richie says.

He wants to take a hot shower and fall into bed before he thinks too hard about this and cries about it again. So he does, and he’s proud of himself for drifting off to sleep before his mind can wander around Eddie for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like this is really short! if you agree, i'm sorry, i had to do it for ~storytelling reasons~


	6. take me into your loving arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie stops asking him for rides, and it’s both good and bad.

Eddie stops asking him for rides, and it’s both good and bad. It makes him miss the companionship and the way they talk to each other, conversation always easygoing and fun. But it’s helping him get over it, to come to terms with the idea they won’t ever be together. He should probably try to “get back out there” or whatever, but he doesn’t want to go on dates when he’s just going to be comparing them to Eddie the whole time.

It’s wedding day. Their morning rehearsal hadn’t lasted long, with all the music being fairly simple and straightforward, and he’d gone back home to shower and get ready. They don’t have to wear tuxes, which he’s grateful for, since he doesn’t really have the money to drop on renting one at the moment. But he’s still making an effort to look presentable, white shirt and black pants, the whole deal. He’s even trying to tie his hair into a bun now so it’s not quite so wild.

He snaps three hair ties before he calls Stan in for backup. Stan gets the curly haired life, even if he keeps his (comparatively) short and combed and neat, so Richie thinks he might have some experience in this department. 

“Why don’t you cut it?” Stan asks as he tries (and fails) to drag a brush through it. 

“At this point, it’s basically sentient, so it’s kind of a moral dilemma.” Richie says.

Stan snorts, gathering all of Richie’s hair in his hands. “I really think we’re just going to have to ponytail this one. Unless you want to take another shower.”

Richie sighs. “Do whatever you have to do.”

When his phone buzzes on the bathroom counter and he sees Eddie’s name, his heart pounds a little faster. He knows it’s just going to be something about the show, but he can wish and dream all he wants that it’s a suggestion they run away together.

_ I literally hate to ask you this but bev is bringing ben again and with all the equipment theres no room for me and i really need a ride _

Richie doesn’t even think about it before he says yes, even if he should. Maybe he should make Eddie sweat it out, find his own way. But he can’t when it comes down to it. The fact of the matter is that he’ll take anything he can get, regardless of how desperate it makes him feel.

Stan makes a judgemental sound from behind him, but thankfully doesn’t launch into a lecture about knowing his worth. Some of Richie’s hair is already escaping the ponytail, but he can at least say he tried, and that’s what really counts.

“Do I need to say anything?” Stan asks right before Richie leaves.

“No, dad.” Richie sighs. “I have to help him. I can’t ruin someone’s wedding just because I don’t want to be alone with him.”

“I don’t think the problem is that you don’t want to be alone with him.” Stan says, staring daggers. Richie feels stabbed.

“Yeah, whatever.” Richie says, and then he’s out the door.

He tries to tamp out whatever hopeful feeling is swelling in his chest as he drives to Eddie’s house. He can’t seem to communicate to his heart that this whole thing is over before it even started, but he’s going to do his best. 

Seeing Eddie standing on his porch in dress clothes is more than Richie can take, even in his jaded state of mind. His hair’s slicked down where it’s usually messy, and if Richie was floored by his body before, fitted dress pants are almost too much for him to take. Judging by Eddie’s expression when he gets in the car, Richie thinks he might be feeling the same way.

“Thank you.” Eddie says when he’s buckling his seatbelt. “I’m so sorry. I know you didn’t want to do this.”

“Don’t even worry about it.” Richie shrugs. “I have to get over it eventually, right?”

“Right.” Eddie smiles nervously, like he’s expecting Richie to blow up again. “And I’m sorry about that, too.”

“Consider it forgotten.” Richie says. “If we’re going to be in a band together, that’s gotta get left behind.”

“Can I play music?” Eddie asks.

Richie nods. “Make yourself at home.”

Eddie plugs into the aux and turns on something poppy, upbeat, and very unexpected. One of Richie’s favorite things about Eddie is how he keeps him guessing, and he can only imagine the kind of things he’d find out if they got closer. 

He lets the music guide the drive instead of attempting to have conversation, and it flies by. Eddie’s clearly more uncomfortable with this than he is, and that brings him some sort of solace. At least he’s not unaffected, not like Richie thought he was. And even if Eddie can’t (/won’t) give this a shot, having him riding shotgun always makes it possible to imagine it.

Richie thinks, based on what he knows, that if they were dating, Eddie would make playlists. He would probably burn CDs, even, he seems like the type. He thinks that Eddie might tangle a hand in his hair when he’s driving, sing along with the radio and act nonchalant about it. Eddie is likely touchy, definitely possessive, and Richie craves the knowledge of what it feels like to be touched by him. 

“I love weddings.” Eddie says, unprompted, as the pull into the parking lot of the venue. “Never ever tell Bill, but I’m glad we’re doing this.”

“You’ve really changed your tune since the other night.” Richie says, killing the engine. He climbs out of the car and stretches, glad to be on his feet again and out of such close proximity with the object of his innermost desires.

“I hate playing them. It sucks. But sometimes it’s worth it to get a glimpse at people who really love each other, you know?”

“How do you know they love each other?” Richie asks.

“The way they look at each other.” Eddie says, and their eyes meet for a single, searing moment that will have Richie higher than any drug could for hours. 

Richie doesn’t say anything, nudges the gravel in the parking lot with his foot in lieu of a response, and lets Eddie lead him inside the barn where they’re having the reception. They get there first, this time, but it isn’t long before Bev wanders inside.

“This is pretty nice, actually.” She says. “More rustic, less redneck. Come help us move shit, please and thank you.”

They follow her outside to get set up, run soundcheck, and they’re ready to go. It isn’t long before guests are due to start arriving, so they don’t even bother leaving the makeshift stage in the back of the barn. As people start to filter in, they play some filler music, on low volume just to ease people into their seats. 

This father of the groom takes over M.C. duties, announcing the first dance with all the vigor he seems capable of mustering. When they go into Thinking Out Loud, the gravity of the situation really sinks in. As much as they’ve bitched and moaned about the wedding, they’re playing a huge role in someone’s love story. And maybe that’s because the original band dropped out and the couple had to call in some friends of friends, but it’s still pretty damn cool.

Richie tries to redirect his thoughts, before he starts getting choked up over people he doesn’t even know, especially during an Ed Sheeran song.

_ “Anyone whose first dance is Ed Sheeran will get divorced, I’m calling it now.” Eddie had said at the last rehearsal. _

_ “You’re such an asshole.” Bev had laughed. _

It’s a sweet song, though, as much as Richie wants to rip on it. And it’s a good first dance song, there’s a reason so many people pick it. And maybe it really is special to these people. If the way they’re swaying and sobbing and staring at each other is any indication, it definitely is.

The song’s over before Richie can even really blink, and he turns to grab some water and to make sure the band was satisfied with his performance. Instead of looking at Bev’s nod, or Bill’s thumbs up, he and Eddie are in a deadlock again, Eddie’s words in the parking lot branded into his brain.

He turns away first, and they move into the father-daughter dance, some country song Richie had never heard in his life before this week. It’s a breeze after the first one, with the potential to fuck up lifted drastically off his shoulders. And the rest of the reception only gets easier.

As promised, people yell out requests like they have every song down to play at a moment’s notice. They play some of them, and ignore others, and people seem to be having a pretty good time. It doesn’t last too long, even with the last few guests lingering for a while, and Richie thinks that maybe this wasn’t that bad. Maybe it was even a little bit fun. And they’re getting paid, after all, so what was everyone so worked up about to begin with?

And most importantly, the couple thanks them before they leave for their honeymoon. They assure them they were just as good as the original band, and they seem genuinely happy with the performance they got for their money.

“I thought you were even better than Ed Sheeran.” The woman whispers before they’re out the door, and as much as Richie wants to say “Who isn’t?”, he takes it for the compliment that it is.

They don’t stick around much longer after that, fearful that they might get roped into helping clean up if they do. So they makes themselves busy hauling equipment, and then they’re loading up cars, and Eddie and Richie are suddenly alone in the parking lot.

“I decided today that I think I love weddings, too.” Richie says, leaned up against the side of his car. “That was really fun, and I didn’t even hate singing bad songs because they loved them so much.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just picks at the skin around his fingernails as Richie talks.

“They were so happy.” Richie says. “I love making people happy. And I see what you mean, now, about the way they look at each other. Those people were in love, and I was just thinking about how beautiful it is that we get to be a part of that. Like, we don’t even know them, and they put such a  _ huge  _ responsibility on our shoulders without even-”

When Eddie kisses him, Richie has to say that he’s surprised. He’d thought about kissing Eddie so many times, especially since the night that it almost happened, that he’s probably pictured almost every possible scenario. Except this one.

Eddie really goes for it, collides with Richie so hard that he’d probably have fallen if not for the car supporting him. And his lips are perfect, soft and frenzied on Richie’s, his arms thrown tight around Richie’s neck to hold himself up. Richie can feel the strain on his back, but he doesn’t dare step away to make it more comfortable, not if it means losing this. His hands are just on Eddie’s waist, grasping the soft fabric of his shirt between his fingers, and he doesn’t think he could ever get enough. Just the notion of Eddie’s skin underneath his clothes is making his head swim. When Eddie pulls away, he almost opens his mouth to beg for more, but forces himself to stay grounded where he is.

“I thought…” Eddie starts, then shakes his head. “I wanted to do that. I’ve wanted to do it so many times. I wanted to do it the whole time we were onstage today, and I thought ‘fuck it’, because...neither of us deserves to let this go. I think we...I owe it to you to give it a shot and you owe it to me, you know?”

“Don’t jeopardize anything. I’m not worth it.” Richie says. “We can still go back.”

Eddie looks at him pointedly. “Do you really believe that?”

Richie thinks hard on that one. Now he knows what it feels like, knows how fucking good it can be, and he doesn’t know if he could take being around Eddie at this point, having indulged in the temptation. He’s not being dramatic, or anything, but it would torture him. But if Eddie really wanted to move on, Richie could try his best.

“If you want to pretend this never happened....” Richie says. “We can do that. At this point, if you regret what we just did, I can move on from it if you want.”

“I don’t want to do that.” Eddie says matter-of-factly. 

Eddie leans into him, buries his face in his neck and kisses soft and open-mouthed on his throat. Richie is digging his nails into his thighs, trying so hard not to react to this, trying to play it cool.

“Will you take me back to your house?” Eddie asks, whispered into Richie’s ear in a tone that gives him full body shivers, and Richie feels himself nodding but thinks this must be another dream.

The drive is theoretically half an hour. It feels like it takes three, and Richie probably clocks it in about ten minutes early after a bit of speeding on his part and whining on Eddie’s. This is a new side of him that Richie’s discovering, and it’s absolutely  _ sinful,  _ the way he sighs and whimpers on the way there. When Stan’s car isn’t in the driveway, Richie starts thinking he might even believe in God.

It’s a little...awkward, for the lack of a better word, when they’re finally shut up in Richie’s bedroom. His mind is racing, unsure of where to even begin after weeks of wanting, but Eddie solves that problem for him when he shoves him against his bedroom door. His lips are on Richie’s again, just as aggressive, kissing him in a way he only knows to describe as thorough. Eddie must be touching him in ways he’s never been touched before, because he’s certain he’s never felt this way in his life.

“God, Richie.” Eddie sighs into his neck. 

It summarizes the TV static playing in Richie’s head pretty well. 

“I’ve wanted this since I saw you.” Eddie says as he collapses onto the bed. “I would’ve gotten on my knees then and there if you’d asked me.”

“Who are you?” Richie asks.

“Come here and you’ll find out.” Eddie says, staring at Richie from between parted knees. Richie clambers on top of him, feeling terribly clumsy compared to the apparent sex god underneath him.

Eddie kisses him again, starts unbuttoning his shirt. Richie allows himself to be undressed, and he’s cursing himself a little for dropping the ball here, but if Eddie wants to handle this then so be it. 

“Just one thing.” He whispers as he pulls the hair tie out of Richie’s hair, letting it fall down onto his shoulders. “Let’s not tell the others right now, okay?”

Richie just nods. He’d probably say anything to get this show on the road, but he can do that. For now at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here yall go! this goes out to everyone who commented about me not adding "pining" to my tags, i got yall!  
> i'll be adding "secret relationship" to the tags soon, i just didn't want to have that from the get-go so readers could be ~surprised~  
> also, i changed my username! just so yall know   
> another sad thing: i'm in college, for those who dont know, and im in the hard part of the semester, so updates might be a little less frequent, but i'm still going to aim to keep them fairly often.   
> thank yall for reading!!!!!


	7. i know places we won't be found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He figures he must be dreaming, just some extended fantasy, and he’s going to wake up the morning of the wedding and none of this will have happened.

When Richie wakes up, seeing Eddie sleepy-eyed with hair that’s messy with slept-in gel is a surreal experience. He figures he must be dreaming, just some extended fantasy, and he’s going to wake up the morning of the wedding and none of this will have happened. When Eddie blinks awake, eyes all scrunched and practically golden in the sun filtering through the window, Richie realizes this can’t be a dream. He could  _ never  _ imagine something so beautiful.

“Good morning.” Eddie says. “You got any breakfast food around here?”

“I think we might be fresh out.” Richie says, as if they’ve  _ ever  _ had any breakfast food. He avoids breakfast like the plague, and Stan is more of a smoothie/fruit bowl kind of guy, so they don’t really keep the house stocked with the traditional morning foods.

“That’s too bad. I guess we’ll have to go to Starbucks.”

Richie might hate breakfast food, but he can  _ never  _ say no to coffee.

“You want to run by your house first and get some clothes?” Richie asks, eyeing Eddie’s discarded dress pants, crumpled on the floor. Not only are they inappropriate for the occasion, but probably fairly wrinkled.

“Not if I can use your shower and borrow something.” Eddie says. “I just don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You’re gonna drown in any of my clothes.”

“God, I hate that the good people of Starbucks will see me in clothes that are too big.”

“Fine.” Richie laughs. “Unnecessarily rude, but fair.”

He sends Eddie off with an old shirt that’s just nearly too small and a pair of tighter-fit sweatpants, hoping that they might at least stay on his body. He may be much taller, but Eddie’s thicker in the thighs.

Now he has to handle Stan, who is sitting on the couch with a signature fruit bowl, reading intently. When he sees Richie come into the living room, he does a double take.

“Aren’t you in the shower?” He asks.

“No.” Richie says. 

“Who is?” 

“Eddie.”

Stan looks confused for a moment before his eyes light up with understanding. “Oh! So you…?”

“We did.” Richie says. “We did and it was amazing, and I’m terrified I’m going to wake up and have dreamed all of it or that he’s about to tell me over coffee that he doesn’t want this after all, just wanted to check me off his list and move on.”

“What’s the likelihood of that happening?”

“I don’t know. I’m not in his head.”

“Richie.” Stan says sternly. “Realistically.”

“Very slim, I guess.” Richie says. “But he said last night that we can’t tell the band.”

“Richie, no, that’s not going to work.” 

“I’ll make anything work for him, Stan. I’d probably say yes if he asked to keep me locked up in his closet for the next six months as long as he promised to feed me.”

“You’ll regret to agreeing to that, just wait.” Stan says. “Hiding something like this isn’t easy.”

“It will be if it’s just one night together.” Richie says. “So I’m not going to worry about it just yet.”

The tap turns off, and the conversation is abruptly cut short, leaving Stan just shaking his head. “Introduce me at least.”

“Obviously I will.” Richie says. As if he’d just sneak Eddie out the door  _ without  _ showing off his newest accomplishment. 

“I’ll have to wear dress shoes, but it’ll do. Hopefully no one will-” He stops talking when he walks into the room, looking at Stan. “Oh, hi.”

“I’m Richie’s roommate and childhood best friend, nice to meet you.” Stan says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Richie shoots him a dirty look.

“Hi, Stan.” Eddie says. “Sorry you’re seeing me like this. I promise my style is typically a little better than this.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve all been victimized by Richie’s bad fashion choices.”

Richie huffs indignantly. “Well, Stan, I’ll see you later. Have a good day.”

 

Instead of Starbucks, they opt for a little indie shop near the college campus called Redwood and Dime, and Eddie complains the whole way there.

“I’m just saying, they better have a white mocha, or there’s not even going to be anything I can drink.” Eddie says, finally, leaning back in the passenger seat with his arms crossed. Richie glances over, sees his neck and nose and his whole profile, and he’s knocked down all over again by how gorgeous he is.

A car honks behind them, and the light is green.

Eddie looks back at him and laughs, and he’s caught, but it’s okay now.

It’s okay now because they slept together, it’s not all in his head, Eddie seems to really like him. It’s okay because he woke up next to Eddie this morning, got to see him all rumpled and messy. It’s okay because Eddie’s with him now, getting breakfast, and they have  _ something.  _ Something real. Something that’s now palpable. And even if Eddie leaves, Richie has the memory of Eddie underneath him, fluid and gorgeous as ever, even at his most vulnerable.

“Watch the road.” Eddie comments quickly, smiling in a near-obnoxiously self-satisfied way.

It would be obnoxious, of course, if he weren’t so hot.

“Every coffee shop in the world has a white mocha.” Richie says. “So be quiet.”

Eddie just laughs again.

They sit underneath the art currently for sale on a couch that Richie  _ loves,  _ soft and easy to sink into. Eddie pulls his legs up underneath him and burrows into the corner, mug on the coffee table in front of them. 

“So let’s talk.” Eddie says finally.

“Let’s do it.” Richie says, faking confidence when his heart is  _ slamming  _ into his chest, anxious that Eddie’s going to call it off. Maybe even more anxious that he’ll decide to pursue it.

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asks, which is something Richie didn’t expect. Eddie’s been the one calling the shots, turning Richie down and then dragging him into bed, and Richie had assumed they’d just carry on like that.

“I’m feeling good about it.” Richie says.

“Yeah?” Eddie says, encouraging.

“Yeah. I like you, and you like me. We had good sex. I think we should be together. That’s my pitch.”

“Here’s the thing, Richie.”

He braces himself.

“I want this too. And I think we should do it. But we can’t tell them.”

“For how long?” Richie asks.

“Um...I haven’t thought that far ahead, to be honest. But definitely not now. Not anytime soon, either. I need to wait for everything to stabilize.”

“I can handle it.”

“You sure?”

Richie rolls his eyes. “I’m not stupid. I’m no stranger to sneaking around.”

“Don’t call it ‘sneaking,’” Eddie says defensively. “We’re not sneaking.”

“So you’ll kiss me like you did yesterday in front of Bill and Beverly?”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.” 

“I don’t.”

“Sneaking is like...it’s dirty. We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re just waiting to tell everyone.”

“Sounds an awful lot like sneaking to me.” Richie says. 

“I prefer hiding.”

“Synonyms for hiding include...sneaking.”

“Lying low?”

“You’re reaching.”

“Only because you’re making me.” Eddie smiles, devilish, playing with his straw and looking up at Richie from underneath his eyelashes.

Frankly, it’s unfair.

They’re engaged in one of their typical staring matches when both of their phones buzz on the table, making an awful racket and earning quite a few dirty looks from all around them.

_ Emergency band meeting tonight _

It’s from Bill, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Bill’s the biggest drama queen I know. I guarantee we’ll just be coming up with the setlist for our show with the scout.”   
  


It turns out that Eddie’s right, and they’re just sitting around Bill’s living room bouncing ideas around. 

Getting there had been kind of a disaster, both of them stumbling in late after realizing halfway there that they probably shouldn’t show up with Eddie in Richie’s clothes, putting this whole secret dating thing off to a really great start. Thankfully, Bill and Bev had already started the discussion, and were absorbed enough in their conversation to ignore the clock.

Eddie jumps in, insisting that they need to do something weird to stand out. Richie kind of tunes it out, watching him argue with them, all animate and waving his hands around, Eddie’s eyes always have this look of shameless ferocity, and it’s something Richie desperately wishes he could look at forever. Even when Eddie’s fire has been aimed at him, it’s been so fun to watch that he can’t bring himself to resent him for it at all.

“Richie?” Bev asks. “You know you can contribute?”

“I mean, I don’t want to be the new guy busting in and bossing you guys around or anything.” He says. “I didn’t know if my like...statute of limitations was up.”

“Very fancy legalese there.” Eddie snorts. “Who are you, Johnnie Cochran?”

“Who the fuck is that?” Richie asks.

“He was a lawyer in the O.J. Simpson trial.” Eddie says. “Stupid.”

Richie just gapes, suddenly unable to close his mouth. Eddie has shifted  _ flawlessly  _ back into weird, frenemy territory.

“Shut the fuck up, watching one season of American Crime Story doesn’t make you any smarter than anyone else.” Bev snorts.

Richie expects Eddie to argue, but his face just reddens, so it’s clearly true. Richie files it away to tease him for later.

“Isn’t Robert Kardashian the obvious choice there anyway?” Bill asks. “Everyone knows he was a part of it.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t sharpened up my famous lawyer trivia lately.” Richie says. “We can’t all be as smart as you are, Eds.”

“Clearly.” He says. “Don’t call me that.”

 

They settle on a rough setlist, and Eddie’s on Richie as soon as they’re in the car.

“Quit it.” Richie laughs, shoving him back into the passenger seat. “Beverly hasn’t even left yet.”

“Like she’s paying attention to us.” Eddie huffs. “But whatever, fine, I can wait.”

“You sure are singing a different tune than you were inside.”

“Can’t have them getting suspicious.” Eddie says.

“No one’s going to get suspicious just because you’re not at my throat.”

“I’m at everybody’s throat.” Eddie says. “They’ll definitely notice if you’re the one person who’s different.”

Richie doesn’t say anything to that, because he’s right. He just starts the car.

“Besides,” Eddie says, clearing his throat, “You told me you like it when I'm mean to you.”

Right again, unfortunately. It’s probably one of Richie’s biggest turn-ons in general. He likes the arguing, the push and pull. Will they, won’t they, that sort of thing. And Eddie’s  _ good  _ at it, too, at riling him up without making him truly angry. It’s the kind of irritation that picks at him just right.

“As long as you don’t mean it.” Richie says.

After years of falling for the mean girls in high school, being the kind of guy you’d date for a bet in teen movies, he likes mean. But he’s not a moron.

“Of course I don’t mean it.” Eddie says. “I’m spending all my time trying not to jump your bones.”

“You better settle down or I’m going to pull over.”

“Promise?”

“Why are you like this?”

“I’ve been fighting feelings for you for the last month, let me act out.”

They pull into Eddie’s driveway and he’s back on the warpath, trying to climb into Richie’s lap. This time Richie gives in for just a minute, kissing Eddie lightly despite his attempts to deepen it.

“I have work tomorrow.” Richie says. “Or I’d come in. But I need sleep.”

“Want to get dinner before rehearsal tomorrow?” Eddie asks.

“Sounds good.” Richie says. “See you at like...six?”

“Sounds good.”

Eddie kisses him again and tumbles out of the driver’s side door, making sure to “accidentally” brush against Richie’s lap on his way.

God, he’s already so gone for this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is my thing: there is no consistent schedule from here, and i am so sorry for that. i'm writing when i can and believe me when i say that i'm thinking of this story constantly. i may post 80 times this week and then not again for another month. (it wont be that bad but i'm preparing you for the worst)  
> follow me/talk to me on tumblr @trashtoziermouth PLEASE i would love company


	8. i'd love it if we made it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Bev and Bill are too caught up in their own lives to notice, and Richie is thankful, because they’ve been slipping.

The month before the big show flies by. They rehearse, and it’s mostly pretty tight. Eddie and Richie spend just about every waking moment together that they’re not at work or rehearsal. They’ve gotten almost uncomfortably close, now, and Richie thinks it must be showing. But apparently Bev and Bill are too caught up in their own lives to notice, and Richie is thankful, because they’ve been slipping.

Like when they were making out in his car after rehearsal and broke apart just as Bill knocked on the window to bring Richie a mug he’d left behind.

Or when Bev showed up at Eddie’s house unannounced to vent about some mysterious issue Eddie wouldn’t share and Richie had to shut himself in Eddie’s room for  _ hours. _

Or when Bill and Bev both happened to come into Starbucks while they were there, and Eddie was so vicious in his attempt to yank his hand away from Richie’s that he spilled iced coffee all over the table.

Or, most dangerously, at rehearsal when Eddie decided to wear a tank top that showed off his shoulders, and consequently the various bite marks and bruises he’d attained after a particularly wild night.

“Who the fuck got a hold of you?” Bev asked.

“Richie.” Eddie said, apparently unthinking.

Richie blanked, and grappled desperately to recover. “I don’t know who would ever fuck you, but it definitely wouldn’t be me.”

And it was mean.  _ Very  _ mean. But here Eddie was, looking mortified, and Richie had been given so little to work with to fix this.

“Oh, fuck  _ off. _ ” Eddie snarled. “You wish you could fuck me. I was just going to ask if you brought that movie you said I could borrow.”

“Still doesn’t answer my question.” Bev said, thankfully buying it.

“Maybe you’ll meet him soon.” Eddie winked.

Richie knew that being jealous was so stupid, when Eddie was talking about him, but he felt it flare up anyway. 

 

But it’s time for the last rehearsal, and Richie’s just praying that things don’t fall apart before the big show.

“I promise we’ll tell them soon after this.” Eddie says as they ride to Bill’s apartment. “I know that we’ve fucked up a lot already, and that’s just proven to me that this can’t work forever, so...I just need us to get through this show, is that okay?”

“No worries, bud.” Richie says. “I’m still cool with it.”

And, shockingly, he is. A younger, more insecure Richie Tozier would object to being hidden, throw around accusations of shame and embarrassment, but he knows this is a) temporary and b) fairly reasonable. If Bev and Bill are going to freak out as much as Eddie seems to think they will, they’ve got to get through this show first.

If they have a shot at fame right now, especially with Richie in tow, he’s going to do whatever it takes to make it happen.

Eddie smacks a peck on his cheek before they get out at Bill’s house, and it’s enough to get him through the night at least. Especially with the knowledge that Eddie’s going home with him after this, spending the night before the show tomorrow, and he’ll get to wake up to that pretty face in the morning before he has his first real rockstar moment.

His life is awesome, basically, and he’s not going to fuck it up over insecurities he’s shoved way far back into his past.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Bill says, dramatic as hell as per usual. “Are you ready for the last rehearsal before we make or break our music career?”

“Can we please just play?” Bev begs.

“What has been up with you lately?” Bill huffs.

“I’ve got things to do.”

“Like what?” 

Eddie looks almost pained watching this interaction, a knowing look in his eyes. It must have something to do with the day Richie spent sprawled out on Eddie’s bed watching Netflix with sound off and captions on.

Bev runs a hand through her hair and sighs. “Look, I know I’ve been weird. I’ve been trying to keep this mostly secret because I don’t want it getting back to him. So, if he finds out, I will know it was someone in this room, and I will fucking kill all of you. Understood?”

They all nod, and she sighs again before she answers.

“I’m going to propose to Ben.” She says, finally.

“Very progressive.” Bill comments.

“Or you’re just straight.” Eddie says, adding a drum fill for emphasis.

Bev finally laughs, appearing much less nervous after Eddie’s joke. “I know it’s not...conventional, or whatever. But we’ve been dating forever and we’ve talked about getting married so much, and Ben thinks I don’t want to right now, for some reason. So I’m just going to ask. So I’ve been moody lately because of nerves and I have to rush home every night to make sure the rings haven’t come in.”

“That is so fucking sweet, Beverly, and I’m so sorry for any mean comments I’ve made.” Bill says. “If you ever need to leave early, let me know. I trust your bass playing.”

“I’d rather Ben find the rings than me blow our shot, so, no thanks on that one.”

“I’m disappointed in your lack of faith in my drumming.” Eddie says. 

“You can leave early when you have someone to propose to.” Bill says, and he turns back to face the front of the room.

Richie looks back at Eddie to see his eyebrows raised.

“Me and you.” He mouths.

Richie can’t help but laugh, and when Bill looks at him, he just shrugs.

“I feel bad for whoever Eddie ends up proposing to, is all.”

 

The night before, Richie dreams he’s late, but it’s such an immense feeling of relief when he wakes up to find that untrue, he can’t even call it a nightmare. It’s also a relief to see Eddie in the bed next to him, something so common now that instead of nervousness he just feels intensely at ease. It’s unusual for him to wake up before Eddie does, so he decides to relish in this moment. 

He isn’t looking at Eddie’s sleeping form for very long before he wakes up.

“Creepy much, Edward Cullen?” Eddie laughs. 

“A Twilight reference? In this economy?” Richie shoots back, trying to quell the embarrassment from getting caught.

Eddie’s quite the early bird, typically, so he’s probably logged hours at this point watching Richie sleep. One day he’ll catch him.

“Today’s the day.” Eddie says.

“Believe me, I’ve already realized.” Richie says. “I had a nightmare that I was late to the show.”

“Show can’t go on without you, pretty boy.”

“I think you’re the more essential part to this group, actually. Plenty of guys sound like me. You’re a pretty exceptional drummer.”

“Anybody can drum.”

“I don’t think most people have the internal rhythm.”

“I don’t think most people have a natural singing voice.”

“So many people with shitty voices are famous anyway. Somebody will like you, no matter how awful you are.”

“I’m sure the vultures would really appreciate mine.” Eddie snorts. “‘Cause I sound like a dying animal.”

“I’ve heard you sing in the car.” Richie says. “You’re not that bad.”

It’s kind of a lie. Eddie is pretty awful at singing. Richie likes a lot of things about him, but that certainly isn’t one of them. It’s no big deal when they’re just singing along in the car, but if Eddie were to get up onstage, it would probably end up pretty brutal. 

“Wow, you are such a bad liar.” Eddie laughs. “Make breakfast to compensate for your sins?”

Richie made an omelette for Eddie  _ once,  _ and now he’s on breakfast duty pretty much eternally.

“You got it.” Richie says, because he can’t complain about this, not when he’s waking up to Eddie every other day.

Stan’s in the kitchen, eating at the table for once. Richie starts bustling around, and he can feel Stan’s pointed look all the way from his place at the stove.

“What is it, Stanley?” He asks, sighing heavily as he cracks a couple eggs.

“Just another night where Eddie’s here and you are still lying to everyone important in your lives.”

“Not everyone.” Richie says. “My mom knows. You know. The lovely people at Redwood and Dime  _ certainly  _ know.”

Since Richie’s never seen any of Speech Class there, he considers it a safe haven for their relationship.

“Not exactly a long list, Richard.” Stan sighs. “I’m worried about you.”

“It’s really not bothering me.” Richie says, and it’s not even a lie. “I don’t know how to make you believe that, but it’s the truth.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Maybe you should get out there and stop worrying about me.”

“I’ll have you know that I went on a date yesterday.”

“Scandalous. How did it go?”

“Very bad.”

“Shocking.” Richie deadpans. “Ever considered lowering your standards?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Eddie says, suddenly. “I did, and look where it got me.”

Despite Stan’s initial wariness of Eddie’s hot and cold attitude and his idea to hide the relationship, Stan definitely bonds with Eddie in one arena, at least. And it’s mercilessly making fun of Richie.

“A cautionary tale for the ages.” Stan says. “Lower your standards and end up with your very own Richie Tozier.”

“Wow, how will I eat two omelettes all by myself?” Richie asks.

“I’m sure you’ll manage.” Eddie laughs.

Richie looks over, Eddie winks at him, and he’s almost turned on.

It’s a vicious cycle.

Teasing, flirting, rinse, repeat.

Richie could fall in love like this. Maybe he already has.

“Stop eye fucking in the kitchen.” Stan groans. “I’m trying to eat.”

“Gross.” Richie says. “Refrain from the phrase ‘eye fucking’ in the future.”

“Refrain from mentally having sex with each other in my presence in the future.” Stan says.

“Maybe you’d prefer us physically having sex in your presence?” Richie suggests.

“Richie!” Stan and Eddie shout, practically simultaneously. Eddie embarrassed, and Stan disgusted.

“You’re the worst person I know.” Stan tacks on for good measure. “And I hate you.”

“Explain why you’ve lived with me since graduation, then.”

“You pay rent on time.”

“I am wounded.”

“And I am hungry.” Eddie says. “Breakfast, please.”

“You are spoiled.” Richie says. “And it’s almost done.”

“What time’s the show tonight?” Stan asks.

“Eight.” Eddie says. “You’re coming?”

“It’s my day off and I made a promise.” Stan says. 

“You’ll love it.” Richie says.

“You might hate it.” Eddie says. “What kind of music do you like?”

“Piano, mostly. I don’t listen to a lot of lyrical stuff. But Richie’s music isn’t bad and I don’t mind listening to it, so I think it’ll be okay.” Stan says. “And Richie dragged me to one of your shows pre-him, and I enjoyed myself.”

“Well, we’ve never been better than we are now.” Eddie says, and his tone is edging on flirtatious, his eyes lingering on Richie.

“ _ Again  _ with the eye fucking!” Stan sighs. 

“Eddie, get naked, we’re going to have to give Stanley a real show.” Richie says.

Their mutual disgust drowns out the sizzling in the pan.

Richie thinks he could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take a new chapter! i'm about to go on spring break, so hopefully i can get some serious writing done


	9. fill up with the good vibrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lives for attention, practically needs it to survive, but this is a make it or break it kind of moment that is riding pretty heavily on him.

They leave mid-afternoon with Stan following behind them. It’s a couple hours away, and they have a strict 6 o’clock call time, so they had to plan pretty far ahead. Richie’s living on half an omelette (Eddie had “just one more bite”’d his way through the other half. Apparently, he loves to eat.) and an admittedly awful coffee from Redwood and Dime, made by the only awful barista, who apparently loves working Saturday mornings.

“Is yours bad?” Eddie asks when he takes a sip.

“No.” Richie lies, because he has principles, and if he admits it isn’t good then Eddie will have reason to never go back. He’s very hot and cold that way.

“Interesting.” Eddie mutters, taking another sip and cringing dramatically.

Richie rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. Eddie’s so dramatic, always, and it’s cute and silly and makes everything seem so important, even when it isn’t. 

Two hours somehow flies by, even sipping away at over-brewed coffee and spotty service on backroads that makes the music go in and out.

(“Why don’t you have Spotify premium?” Eddie had asked. 

“I do.”

“Why don’t you download songs?”

“I have no phone storage.”)

They haul equipment in, Stan goes with Mike and Ben to find seats, and soon enough Richie finds himself backstage feeling anxious for probably the first time in his life. He lives for attention, practically needs it to survive, but this is a make it or break it kind of moment that is riding pretty heavily on him. He’s probably one shallow breath away from a panic attack when someone yanks him into the bathroom.

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asks, and it’s a tiny little space, basically just a toilet and sink pushed so close together it seems like a fire hazard at best.

“Mostly confused.” Richie says, leaning against the door and praying that the splintered wood is stronger than it looks.

“Confused?”

“As to why you pulled me into the bathroom.”

“Oh!” Eddie says, as if it hadn’t yet occured to them that they don’t often hang out in tiny bathrooms together. “Just to talk.”

“Just to talk?” Richie asks, amused.

“I wanted to check on you. In private.”

“Yeah?” Richie says, the kind of question that’s sole intention is to propel Eddie in his explanation.

“And maybe make out.”

Richie laughs. “And the truth.”

“And maybe blow you.”

“And maybe calm down, Eddie, save something for after the show.”

“I thought it would help your nerves.”

“You’re a real martyr, you know that?” Richie snorts, but closes the space between them.

The kiss is frantic, and Eddie is clearly trying to escalate things, grabbing at Richie’s hair and whining dramatically into his mouth. He pushes Richie harder against the door, pressing their bodies together and nipping at his lower lip. Richie lets him go on like this for a moment, but eventually manages to gather up the restraint to push him off.

“I appreciate your effort, Eds, but if we do anything more than this right now I’m not going to have the energy I need to finish this show.”

“Fine.” Eddie says, pouting. “I won’t try to change your mind, but you’ll be great no matter what. You’re meant for this.”

“You’re sweet.”

“I mean it.” Eddie says. “Now get out of here.”

Richie stumbles out of the bathroom a little worse for wear, but he thinks he’s fairly inconspicuous. Unless anyone’s looking for a secret hookup, he’ll be okay.

“Have you seen Eddie?” Bill asks when Richie finally steps out onto the stage.

“Probably not since you’ve seen him.” Richie shrugs.

“Weird. He’s always missing lately.”

“I want to rehearse Boogie Feet.” Bev says, cluelessly saving Richie from having to formulate some awkward response.

This is their last-ditch attempt in case nothing else wows the agent, a single song where Richie plays bass, Bev sings, and they have a sort of choreographed, sort of spontaneous dance routine and so far, it’s been a hit. (With Mike and Ben, at least.) Beverly has good vocals, Richie’s usual home is with bass, and neither of them can dance but they both love to  _ perform,  _ so there’s this crackling energy that’s almost tangible between them.

And it doesn’t disappoint that night, either, and the crowd is a mess seconds into the song, cheering Beverly on and delighting in the little chance of pace they get to experience. When Richie comes in on the post-chorus, he joins her at the front of the stage, ready to follow her lead with this whole thing they’ve created.

Bev says “Dance with me” and and he’s doing this weird thing with his legs as she twirls around the stage, so intoxicatingly beautiful that for a second, it feels like the whole room falls for her.

“Dance with me, please.” Richie echoes, and he spares a glance at Eddie when Bev grabs him by his shirt, pulling him in close for her next line.

It’s a drum heavy song, and Richie’s glad they’ve rehearsed this so many times, because it gives him one glorious moment to watch Eddie really in the zone, so focused in he doesn’t even notice Richie staring. He’s moving so fast, and there’s a look in his eye that seems almost predatory, and he’s killing it. His hair is dripping with sweat, and that’s never been Richie’s thing, but looking at Eddie now, he thinks it definitely could be.

And he hopes Bev doesn’t get any closer, because this is a moment where his excitement would be wildly misinterpreted.

“Beg for it.” She says, and shoves Richie to his knees.

He makes sure to hold the bass high so it doesn’t even touch the ground. Bev is someone he hasn’t seen angry, but the tales of her fury have been enough to scare him away from any potential confrontation.

“Come on, please.” He groans, really hamming it up. It’s a silly song, and if anyone is going to do it justice, it’s the two of them.

She drops to the floor with him on the outro, and they just stare at each other for the rest of the song, chests heaving, until Bev pops up at the last second, kicking much higher in the air than Richie could dream of doing.

“Are you scared of these boogie feet?” She winks, they kill the lights, and they have a break before the last half.

It’s like a movie moment, really. Richie can’t breathe, the crowd is  _ screaming,  _ and it was such a good decision to end the first set like this. They’d fought hard about where to put the song, wanting to begin and end on originals, but not wanting to bury this in the set where people would be in the bathroom or zoning out or taking a smoke break.

“I need a fucking drink.” Bev shouts, tossing her hair behind her as she walks offstage.

If Richie had just done  _ that,  _ he’d probably act like a diva too.

“This is going so well.” Bill says, in the monotone way he has of saying things, like getting too excited will change them. “They’re loving us.”

And they love them all night, even when they play some original stuff, even without the bells and whistles. Richie feels truly satisfied when the lights go down for the last time, like he’s part of something so much bigger than himself. And then he’s being shoved backstage, and Bill’s talking fast and quiet in his ear about Tessa the agent and a possible deal and a tour, and it’s happening so fast.

It happens so fast he can hardly keep up, but he certainly hears things like “recording session” and “booking” and “small tour.”

They start writing to fill in some gaps in the next week or so, and she agrees to book a recording studio sometime within the next month. Mike signs some contracts on their behalf, after a thorough read-through (Richie is grateful that someone is there to read through the legalese, because the shock from the day has likely rendered him illiterate.)

“Just one thing.” Tessa says. “You two are adorable onstage, but we need to make sure your relationship isn’t going to interfere with any official band business.”

Everyone seems confused, and it doesn’t hit Richie until Bev starts laughing hysterically.

“We are  _ not  _ together.” Bev snorts, finally, after she’s cured her giggles enough to speak. “My boyfriend is here, we just did that for fun. To be flashy, you know.”

“None of us date each other.” Bill tacks on. “We don’t do that.”

Richie feels Eddie’s nails digging into his wrist. He hopes his face is just “I just finished playing a show” red and not “I am actively hiding my secret relationship during an important moment in my career” red.

“Oh, good.” Tessa says, sounding relieved. “Then we shouldn’t have any problems.”

No problems whatsoever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was such a hard chapter to write, but i know exactly where to go from here, so things should get a bit easier now  
> come yell at me @trashtoziermouth  
> ps if you've never listened to boogie feet pls do it. it is HUGE bev and richie energy & also just the best song


	10. on this night, and in this light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Maybe you should craft an elaborate narrative and act like you’re falling in love slowly.” Stan suggests from the couch, not even bothering to look in their direction.

“I still don’t think we should tell them.” Richie says, shocking even himself. As much as he wants to proclaim that Eddie is his to the whole world, they’ve now backed themselves into a corner.

“Maybe we should pretend that we just now got together.” Eddie says. “Like...after the show.”

“Yes, immediately following a warning about inter-band dating, we thought ‘hey, we should date. Fuck that lady.’”

“Maybe you should craft an elaborate narrative and act like you’re falling in love slowly.” Stan suggests from the couch, not even bothering to look in their direction. “I told you lying about it was a dumb idea.”

“Not a bad idea.” Richie says.

“Richie, that is the  _ worst  _ idea.” Eddie sighs.

“Well, we need to figure something out. Either we tell them or we don’t, but they’re going to figure it out eventually. We aren’t good at this.”

“Sure we are!”

“You’re not.” Stan says. “Everyone thinks you’re weird and flirty, and they’re all betting on when you’re going to break down and fuck each other.”

“Did anyone bet that we already have?” Richie asks.

“I did.” Stan says. 

“Oh my God.” Eddie groans. “This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“But if they’re betting on it, maybe they wouldn’t be mad. If they can joke about it, then..maybe they don’t actually care that much.”

“Maybe they  _ wouldn’t,  _ if we’d told them right away.” Eddie says. “Bill and Beverly are two of the most honest people I’ve ever met, and they’re so big about loyalty and so weird about keeping secrets. And now Bill’s lied because of us, which will definitely make it worse.”

“I don’t think it’s any of Tessa’s business that we’re together.”

“She’s signing us, she deserves to know what she’s getting into.”

Richie just waves a hand. Honestly, he’s a little tired of talking about it. Eddie’s trying to find an easy way out, but there isn’t one, not after they’ve lied for so long. 

It’s a band meeting night, so they go over to Bill’s together to recap the show and plan for the one they’re playing the following weekend, a few hours out of town and closer to a coastline. And, hopefully, a bigger crowd.

 

“So, Bev and Ben are going to get a room together, I’ll room with Mike, which leaves you two.” Bill says, pointing a look in Richie and Eddie’s direction. “I will swap with one of you if it’s an issue, but I like to think you can go a night without arguing yourselves into violence. Am I correct?”

“Yes.” Eddie squeaks.

Richie doesn’t bother answering. Even when they were still at each others’ throats, Eddie was usually the problem. 

The venue is too far for a trip there and back in one day, so they made a group decision to stay overnight. It’s partially work, but it’s also partially a vacation, and there’s a part of Richie that is hopelessly excited to spend a night away with Eddie for the first time, even under these circumstances.

But there’s also a part of him that’s terrified they’re going to slip up, especially now that Eddie’s the one pushing to confess. Eddie was already bad at keeping the secret, and when he has even less motivation to do so, that ability is only going to get worse.

It’s going to be a long week of rehearsals and lying, and Richie is just so tired.

 

Friday comes sooner than they expect, and they’ve had pretty shitty practices all week. There’s no fighting or fussing, it’s just...off. Bev and Eddie are struggling staying in sync with each other, and that fucks with Bill, and the three of them playing totally different parts of songs renders Richie completely incapable of singing them. They’re going into this with the lowest of explanations.

“I can’t wait to get dropped from a label the week after they signed us.” Bill says flatly as they unload equipment at the venue. “This’ll be fun.”

“Stay positive!” Richie says, but he doesn’t mean it. He’s pretty nervous about this, but for once it doesn’t feel like his fault, so he’s just trying to keep spirits up to prevent some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy.

The first song is not good. It’s an original, though, so there’s some potential that the audience might think it’s just how it sounds. Regardless, though, the audience is looking restless. Richie’s trying his hardest to keep it together, but Eddie’s going too fast so Bev is dragging so Bill is straight up  _ not playing,  _ which just makes it all even worse.

In the middle of the second song, something seems to click.

The rest of the show goes on without incident, and the crowd gets into it eventually, after they’ve finally recovered. The last song is supposed to be slow and sweet, something almost croony, a song Bill wrote for some girl in high school. But the energy’s high, and Bev looks at Richie and she mouths “Boogie Feet?” and he nods, because it just seems right to end a show that started off dull with a bang. 

Bill gives him a thumbs up, and Eddie counts it off, and it was definitely the right choice because the audience loves it yet again. And at the end, Bev surprises everyone when she grabs the mic and pops the question then and there. Ben cries, the audience screams, and all is well.

 

Richie doesn’t know if Eddie’s feeling the same way, but as soon as they’re in the hotel room he feels like going straight to sleep. The nervousness and the sudden shift and the good show and Beverly’s surprise have all combined and he’s feeling more exhausted than he’s ever been before.

It’s really all he can do to stay awake while Eddie’s in the shower, and he really thought through that one to decide whether or not it was worth it.

The truth is, though, that Richie loves sex, and he especially loves sex with Eddie, so the promise of that is enough to keep him awake for hours on hours.

And it  _ feels  _ like hours on hours, especially when his eyes keep falling shut and he jerks awake, like one of those falling dreams over and over and over.

He can hear music from next door, Ben and Bev must be celebrating, and he makes a mental note to ask Eddie to lock the door when he comes out of the bathroom.

Contrary to his best efforts, he falls asleep.

But he’s woken up, probably not too long afterward, by Eddie crawling into the bed next to him. His hair’s wet and he smells like green tea, typical hotel shampoo, and he’s got this look in his eyes that’s so sweet but so wanting, and Eddie just pulls him in like a siren.

“You can go back to sleep if you want.” Eddie says softly, in what Richie privately considers his Sweet Voice. He sounds undeniably sad, but accepting.

Richie doesn’t even consider it. “No, no. I want to spend time with you. I’m just tired. I’m sure you can keep me awake.”

Eddie smiles at that, genuine delight washing across his face. “I know I can.”

He leans in to kiss Richie, and it’s sweet. But it’s heartbreaking at the same time, the way Richie can tell from his tone that there’s been someone before who did go to sleep, at least metaphorically, choosing themselves over Eddie. He wonders if it was Griff or if it was someone before, but he can’t believe anyone would be able to let Eddie down without feeling it right in their heart.

Eddie’s lips are soft and yielding, not rushed like they usually are when they’ve just gotten out of practice and Richie has work in the morning and Eddie has to go home at some point, he’s just...giving. It doesn’t feel like any kiss Richie’s ever had before, and maybe it’s because he witnessed a proposal for the first time, but he thinks this might be what it feels like to be in love.

It’s only been a month and some change, but he thinks he’s always known it, at least a little. Even when Eddie was firing insults his way, there was a tiny part of Richie that loved the attention, that reveled in the fact that it came from Eddie specifically.

Richie breaks the kiss, thinking  _ fuck it, who cares, life is short,  _ and Eddie looks at him expectantly, like he knows what he’s about to say. 

“I love you.” Richie says, and can’t even regret it, because it’s the truth.

Eddie’s whole face flushes red, and he has this tiny little smile, maybe disbelief, maybe embarrassment. But he says it back.

He says, “I fucking love  _ you.”  _

Just like that, emphasis on you, the “even more” implied, like Richie will stand for that.

“I love you more.” Richie says, and he tries pinning Eddie into the bed, but he’s a tricky little thing, rolling out from underneath him.

“I love you most.” Eddie says, climbing on top of Richie and straddling him, leaning down until they’re chest to chest.

They alternate, for a moment, between staring at each other and giggling, and then Eddie is kissing him hard. The difference is dizzying, and it’s really all he can do to dig his fingers into Eddie’s hips and hold on.

He doesn’t register the sound of the door opening when it happens, but it does, and he isn’t fully aware of what’s going on until Eddie’s shoving himself off and he hears Beverly’s voice.

“Hey-” She starts, and then the door slams as she yelps, “Oh, fuck!”

“Did she see?” Richie asks, breathless.

There’s a tentative knock at the door. Eddie’s on the floor, Richie’s hard in his shorts, and this is all so fucking ridiculous.

“She fully saw.” Eddie groans. “Come in!”

Bev doesn’t address it. “We’re celebrating next door with some champagne, if you want to come. Bill and Mike are there.”

She leaves it at that and returns to her room, and Richie and Eddie go over after they take a few minutes to collect themselves.

No one addresses it that night, but the way Bev keeps glancing at them reassures Richie that this is a powder keg, just waiting to explode.

He knew they couldn’t hide it forever, but he wishes they could’ve at least had tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have arrived, folks  
> i'm on tumblr @trashtoziermouth  
> school is picking up again, sorry for sporadic updates. college is hard yall.


	11. sleeves are stained red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things in the morning are...weird and tense.

Things in the morning are...weird and tense. After the short celebration of Beverly and Ben’s engagement, Richie and Eddie had gone straight to bed. When Richie wakes up, Eddie is quietly stirring around the room, making coffee for the road and packing up all his last minute items. Richie ducks into the bathroom without a word to brush his teeth and gather his own stuff. They’re supposed to leave in about an hour, and he has a text from Bill inviting them to the hotel breakfast, but there’s no way he’ll make it down there. He assumes Eddie has probably received the same message and made the same choice, but there’s really no way of knowing.

After he spits out his toothpaste, he makes the mistake of looking into the mirror. His hair is messy from tossing in the bed all night, filled with anxiety, and there are deep, purple bags under his eyes from what could possibly be the lowest quality sleep he’s ever had. It’s ridiculous, because he’d been so exhausted, but after Bev walked in on them he was sparked like a fucking livewire, and all night he’d just been thinking and thinking and thinking, listening to Eddie breathe quietly next to him, obviously also not asleep but trying  _ so hard  _ to pretend to be.

And that’s just the icing on the fucking cake, Eddie’s lack of acknowledgement. After Bev had left, Eddie really hadn’t done much to address the situation.

“We should probably go next door.” He had said, no emotion in his voice. “Or they’ll figure out something is wrong.”

And he hadn’t made another mention of it, just climbed into bed the second they returned to the room, not even bothering to brush his teeth. 

Last night was supposed to be special. Their first big show, their first weekend away, exchanging I love you after, like, a month, like that’s something normal fucking people do. This was destined to fail, anyway, so why wouldn’t this happen right now?

Richie must be in the bathroom a while, because Eddie looks concerned when he finally emerges.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks.

Richie wants to say no, wants to tell him things aren’t going to be okay for a while, because he had this super fun idea to keep this a fucking secret, but he knows hostility isn’t the answer, so he doesn’t say anything.

Eddie, clearly, doesn’t feel the same way, because hostility is his immediate next step. It’s the downside of Eddie’s fire, his tendency to combust without warning.

“Oh, so we’re not talking now?” Eddie snaps. “Really neat.”

“I’m fine.” Richie says, calm and measured. Honestly, he’s surprising himself. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, we’re going to have to.”

“Says you.” Richie mumbles, because he can’t resist.

“What kind of Kindergarten fucking response is that?”

“You’re the one that immediately hopped into bed last night without so much of a word in my direction.” Richie sighs. “I don’t want to fight with you, Eddie, so I’m not saying anything right now. I’m in a bad mood, I barely slept, and we’re about to have to deal with this shitshow downstairs, so I’m saving the little energy I have.”

“I’m sorry.” Eddie says, and he puts his head in his hands. “I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

“It’s just happening, huh?” Richie asks, unable to fight the urge to joke and tease. He hates seeing Eddie upset, and it’s like a natural instinct to try to make him laugh.

And like Richie’s impulse to tease, Eddie’s impulse is to smile, and Richie catches him doing it before his face returns to doom and gloom.

“I’m not mad at you.” Richie says. “Really, I’m not. I’m just scared and frustrated, and I don’t want this to end before it begins.”

“Don’t worry about this ending.” Eddie says, immediately. “That’s not even an option.”

Their phones ding simultaneously, and a message from Mike in their group chat reads  _ Everyone in the lobby in 5, we’re gonna head out. _

“What are we going to do?” Richie groans.

When Eddie finally lifts his head, his face is shiny and wet with tears. Richie notes that he’s, apparently, a very stealthy crier. Which is dangerous for an oblivious boyfriend like him.

“I’m going to quit the band.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. No you are fucking not.” Richie says. “ _ I’ll  _ quit the band.”

“No.” Eddie says, shaking his head viciously. “You’re the singer. It’s easier to replace  drummer.”

“You were-”

“We’ll talk about this later, but if it comes to it, I’m quitting. I need to go rinse my face and then we need to leave.”

Threeish minutes later, they’re downstairs, where everyone else is already waiting.

“I’m riding with you, Rich.” Bev says, clapping him on the back. “I really feel like we haven’t spent enough time together.”

“Don’t you want to be with your fiance?” Richie asks, jostling her with his elbow. It’s teasing, but there’s a pained look in his eyes just begging her not to do this.

Bev’s eyes say  _ too bad dumbass,  _ and her mouth says, “Nope. I’ll have the rest of my life with my sweet Benjamin, but this ride is essential for our friendship and the good of the band.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Bill says, rolling his eyes. “You sure you’re ready to hear this forever, Ben?”

“More than ready.” Ben says. “I’d marry her today if she’d let me.”

“Oh, please, you’re the one wanting the fairytale wedding.” Bev snorts. “We’d have eloped three weeks into dating if it had been up to me.”

“Richie, please take her home.” Bill deadpans. “I think I might get carsick if I have to listen to this the whole way back.”

“You got it.” Richie grumbles.

The first half an hour is dead silent. Richie attempts to turn on the radio, but Beverly immediately turns it back off, clearly trying to intimidate him into talking. He’s got his eyes trained on the highway, but he can  _ feel  _ her glare burrowing deep into the side of his face. Finally, at about the 45-minute mark, she throws her hands up in exasperation.

“What the fuck, Richie?” She demands.

“Bev…” Richie sighs. “You know what it feels like to be in love.”

He offers her a weak smile, and she just keeps glaring.

“So you guys are in love now? Because you were acting like you fucking hate each other about three seconds ago.”

“Eddie said we couldn’t tell.”

“Of course he did.” She laughs coldly, shaking her head. “Of course Eddie would tell you that. Why wouldn’t he?”

“Don’t be mad at Eddie, I pushed him into it.”

“I’m fucking  _ furious  _ with both of you! And I’m not mad because you’re together, I’m mad that you’ve been lying about it. You lied to all of us, to our  _ faces _ .”

“I didn’t know things would get this far.”

“What are you going to do when you break up?” She asks, eyebrows raised. “Have you thought about that? Because Eddie’s relationships never last very long, Richie, what makes you so special?”

“That was fucking mean, and you know that.” Richie says. “But  _ if  _ we break up, we’ll deal with it like adults.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

“That means we work it out, we keep the band together, and no one gets hurt.”

“That’s really easy to say when it’s all theoretical.”

“You know, I thought you’d be the most understanding about this.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“About a month since anything actually happened, but it was kind of going on before that.”

“When?”

“After the wedding.” Richie says. “But things were weird before that, kind of tense. I tried to kiss him once before and he told me no.  _ For the band. _ ”

“Eddie’s filled you in on what happened with Griff, right? Because we literally can’t do that again.”

“He did. And we won’t. I’m not quitting, no matter what happens. And we were going to tell you, we just didn’t know when, and then we got caught off guard.”

“You should’ve told us immediately. And now I’m in on it, too, so that makes me an accomplice.”

“It also means we only have to tell Bill.”

“And Mike, who is going to be so pissed.”

“So...maybe we don’t tell them?”

“I’ve known you for a fucking month, and you’re asking me to keep a secret from my best friend, our manager, and my fiance?” Bev asks, and it’s the kind of questions that exists without needing an answer, being thrown back in Richie’s face so he can maybe recognize his own ridiculousness.

“Yeah. I am.” Richie says, because the only thing he knows to do is to fake confidence, not backing down.

Beverly just laughs, and turns to look out the window again.

There’s still at least an hour and a half left in the car, and Richie is dreading every second of it. He thinks of what Eddie is doing, probably having fun stuffed in a van full of his friends, while he’s stuck here explaining himself to Beverly.

“Eddie didn’t want to do this.” Richie says, finally, after two songs have played through on the radio. “I started everything, I’m the one who tried to kiss him first, he pushed back, and things just sort of happened. We  _ tried,  _ Beverly, I can’t stress that enough. We tried, but we couldn’t ignore that there was something there, and I hope that you can understand this.”

Beverly doesn’t say anything, but he can see the muscles in her jaw working as she chews on the inside of her cheek. She’s angry, but she’s thinking.

“Listen. I  _ swear  _ if we break up, nothing is going to change about the band. I can deal with it, and I’m sure Eddie can too. We’re going to tell everyone soon, we were already planning it out, so please just give us time to do it on our own terms.”

She still doesn’t speak.

“I didn’t want to drag you into this. We didn’t think anyone would find out before we were ready, but now I can’t just tell everyone as an afterthought and expect everyone to be okay with it. We need time to figure out how to do this the best way. Maybe you can help.”

When Beverly doesn’t answer this time, Richie decides to just give her time. He’s said his piece, and the ball is totally in her court now. He turns up the radio, letting Today’s Top Hits guide them home. And when they’re inside the city limits, Beverly finally speaks.

“You have a month.” She says. “You and Eddie have a month to tell everyone else, or I will.”

Richie thinks he’d like more than a month, but he’d expected less or none at all, and he has his fingers crossed that Eddie hasn’t already freaked out and confessed, because this is going to take some delicate maneuvering to work.

“You are a kind and benevolent God.” Richie says.

“God, I wish you were easier to hate.” Bev laughs, shaking her head. “Because I so fucking want to hate you right now.”

“I know you’re mad at me, so this is probably a bad time, but I really think you and I were meant to be friends.” 

“You were meant to be a pain in my ass, is a better way of phrasing that.” She rolls her eyes.

“Can I be your maid of honor?”

She finally laughs, genuinely, and things feel sort of okay.

And they’ll stay that way, hopefully, for at least another month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen- please forgive me for taking so long to update this. this semester was, academically, one of the hardest of my entire life & i got to a point where i REALLY needed to basically cut off all my hobbies and buckle down. that being said, im not going to promise to update often/consistently, bc i'm about to start working blah blah blah. i am a disaster, thank you for enjoying this story, i PROMISE i will finish it, just maybe not as soon as you'd like  
> berate me @trashtoziermouth on tumblr (pls don't really berate me, but follow me and send me things, i'd love to make some friends)


	12. drunk in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So they have a month left to tell everyone, which is only complicated slightly by the fact that Stan has decided that of all the people he could possibly date in the world, he’s chosen Mike Hanlon.

So they have a month left to tell everyone, which is only complicated slightly by the fact that Stan has decided that of all the people he could possibly date in the world, he’s chosen Mike Hanlon.

“When did you even talk to him?” Richie demands. “I’ve never even seen you two have a conversation.”

“Shocking, considering the twenty-four hour surveillance you apparently have me under.” Stan rolls his eyes. “He’s coming over tonight regardless of whether or not you think we should be doing this.”

“I don’t think you should be doing this at all, I just want to make that clear. If things end badly, it could complicate this whole thing so much.”

Stan glares at him, “Do you realize how hypocritical you’re being, or are you really that stupid?”

“Jury’s out on that one, Stanley!” Richie says, exasperated. “Fine, love on him all you want. I can’t blame you. But you can’t tell him about me and Eddie.”

“You are such a narcissist. Why would we even be talking about you and Eddie?”

“Who knows? A lack of conversation topics, discussion over the cutest couples, some sort of twisted foursome fantasy.”

“No offense, Richie, but the day I sexually fantasize about you is the day I should be declared unstable and locked up for the good of society.”

“It was a joke!” Richie huffs. “Whatever, it’s fine. I’ll just go to Eddie’s tonight.”

“You can’t come over tonight.” Eddie says an hour later over the phone, “My roommate’s parents are in town and I’m not going to be having any adult sleepovers with Mrs. Anderson sleeping on my couch.”

“Then we can’t see each other today,” Richie says, “Because Mike is going to be over here, and Stan usually doesn’t fuck on the first date, but if he’s coming over for dinner then they’ve probably gotten pretty serious.”

“When did that even happen?” Eddie asks.

“I have no idea, Stan wouldn’t even explain earlier because he was too busy calling out my hypocrisy.”

“I mean, we don’t have to see each other every day.” Eddie says, getting back to the problem at hand.

“I know we don’t have to.” Richie says, “But I’d like to as much as possible.”

“Well, it seems we’re out of options.”

“Just come over, we’ll figure it out. Maybe we can say we’re practicing.”

“And Mike definitely won’t notice the distinct lack of drumming sounds.”

“I could hide you?”

“Richard Tozier, you are not going to shove me in your closet.”

“You’ve done it to me!”

“That was under different circumstances,” Eddie sighs, “Maybe we should just tell him.”

“We can’t do that right now. I still think we should act like we just started dating.”

“That puts Beverly in a weird position, especially since you told her exactly when this started.”

“Okay, well, it would put Mike in a weird position if we told him we were together in the middle of his date with Stan.”

“Okay, fine. We’ll figure something out. Let’s get some dinner.”

Richie thinks of a plan right as he finishes up his food. It takes every second until he’s signing the bill to get Eddie to agree. 

It starts with Richie spilling his drink all over himself, leaving him stinking of alcohol and drenched. Then, Eddie gets behind the wheel of his car, which they spend a minute arguing over again before he’s fully convinced.

“I’m sorry I’m nervous about  _ driving without a license. _ ” He snaps.

“Just don’t speed and you’ll be fine.”

“What if the police see me and recognize me?”

“God, Eddie, how fast were you going?”

Eddie laughs, “Shut up!”

“If you can think of a better plan, we’ll do it. But I’m already going to be scrubbing a wine stain out of this shirt, so I’ll be pissed.”

“I can’t think of anything else, but I want you to know that that still doesn’t make it a good plan.”

Miraculously, they get to Richie’s house without any traffic violations or Eddie Kaspbrak breadowns. And the hard part begins. Mike’s car is in the driveway, so the tiny bit of hope Richie had that they would beat him there is extinguished. There’s always the chance that they’ll be in Stan’s bedroom.

Richie crosses his fingers behind his back as Eddie goes around to help him out of the car, beginning their little charade.

“This isn’t going to work.” Eddie whispers.

“I’m very familiar with being drunk, Edward.” Richie hisses as he pushes open the front door.

“Someone’s had a little too much to drink,” Eddie says, “So I had to bring him home at risk of losing my fucking license.”

“Too sweet, Eddie bear,” Richie slurs, a little too loud, pinching Eddie’s cheek for good measure. Eddie’s knocking it out of the park, striking just the right balance between concerned and irritated.

Stan stares through Richie’s soul, obviously not buying his act. Mike, at least, looks convinced.

“I’ll just have to stay here I guess,” Eddie huffs, “That is...unless one of you wants to drive me home…”

“No.” Stan says, bluntly, before Mike can offer. “You’ll live through a night with Richie.”

“Oh, Stan knows for sure,” Richie says, stumbling a little on his next step, “We live together, you know?”

They’ve almost made it through Richie’s door, and Richie throws in a bigger stumble, grappling for the doorframe for good measure. 

“I know, Richie.” Eddie growls, his irritation sounding a little too genuine.

“Are you mad at me, Eddie?” Richie says, weepy and offended. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night, I promise. I just wanted to have fun and-”

Eddie slams the door shut behind him, and they’ve made it.

“You ars so fucking lucky that worked,” Eddie whispers, flopping down on the bed, “We can’t keep this up much longer.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying the whole time, sweetheart.”

Stan’s turned the volume up on whatever movie they were watching so high that the sound bleeds through the walls. Richie is thankful for his assistance, however surreptitious it may be. He’ll probably deny it tomorrow, but he’s definitely covering for them.

“Now, let’s get back to what we were doing in the hotel that night,” Richie says, climbing over Eddie. 

“Fine, but in the morning, we’re going to figure out how to deal with this situation.” Eddie says, but there’s no heat behind it, and he melts into Richie’s kisses easily enough.

 

They don’t talk about in the morning, because Mike is sitting at the kitchen table and Richie’s faking a hangover and Stan is clearly embarrassed he’s been caught during his breakfast of shame and Eddie’s acting angry to even be here in the first place.

“Oh, Stanley,” Richie says suggestively as Mike ducks into the bathroom to shower, “Who knew you could be so slutty?”

“It’s hardly slutty when we’ve been on a few dates already,” Stan huffs, “Besides, at least I wasn’t falling all over myself fake drunk last night. Mike is now under the impression that you must be a terrible lightweight, and I practically had to deafen him to cover up the noises  _ you  _ were making in the middle of the night.”

“Sorry Stan, but don’t blame me,” Richie says mischievously, “Eddie’s the one who makes all the noise.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Eddie snorts, “Like you weren’t  _ begging  _ to-”

“I’m begging you not to finish that sentence.” Stan says.

“I like you, Stan, so I won’t. Just know that Richie is the biggest liar on the face of the planet.”

“You’re preaching to the choir here. We’ve lived together for years, I’m very familiar with Richie’s tendency to overexaggerate.”

“Hey, back to the situation at hand, here.” Richie says, because Stan and Eddie are really starting to enjoy ganging up on him, and he is not down for that  _ at all.  _

“I am not a part of your situation.” Stan says, “You’re dealing with this yourself. And if it comes down to it to protect my relationship with Mike, I’m going to tell the truth. So you better get this handled, and fast, before it all comes crashing down on you.”

“Bev gave us a month.” Eddie says.

“Bev knows?” Stan asks.

“Shit, I have so much to tell you,” Richie groans, “Bev walked in on us. I made her promise not to tell, and she told me she’ll keep it secret for a month.”

“I hope you also promised to pay for whatever therapy she has to endure after walking in on  _ you,  _ Richard.” Stan says, “No offense, Eddie.”

“None taken,” Eddie says, “I’m sure one day I’ll have to lie down on a couch and get psychoanalyzed about why and how I decided to let Richie have his way with me.”

“You know, I’m really starting to like you,” Stan says, “I hope you two can work this out.”

“No worries, Stan.” Richie says, “We have a month, and we’re brainstorming now.”

When Mike gets out of the shower, he exchanges goodbyes with Richie and Eddie, then offers Stan a day at the park. When Stan accepts, Richie knows this is serious. Stan is not the type to do two dates in a row like this, especially after the first time. 

And now this is another relationship he’s putting in jeopardy with his lies. And it’s another reason for them to think of a plan to tell the others, and fast.

But it seems like they have all the time in the world, especially once Stan and Mike are out the door and Eddie’s climbing into his lap.

Surely it can wait another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo sorry for the unplanned hiatus, but i'm back! maybe for a little while this time. this was a hard chapter to right bc it's sort of filler, but i hope you enjoy this silly little escapade.  
> still @trashtoziermouth on tumblr, although i hardly ever post, but if you have any questions about this verse or the fic or my life, i can be found there!


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